


Life Is...

by n_nami



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Five Stages of Grief, M/M, Mourning, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 13:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4392926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n_nami/pseuds/n_nami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Life is what happens while you're making other plans.</i> They've got it all figured out. Their life, their house, their mortgage, 'til death do us part – until that's what actually happens. It's way too soon when Jeff dies and leaves Jensen and Jared to sort out what they are without him. And then there's that guy at the funeral home with the sympathetic blue eyes who's the first and only one to get what it means to lose someone in a polyamorous relationship. Over the following months, Misha worms his way into their lifes and leads them through the painful process of mourning, until it's clear that they function way better with him and fell for him hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ... cruel

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [spn_j2_bigbang](http://spn_j2_bigbang.livejournal.com/) 2015.
> 
> Cross-posted on my LJ [here](http://namichan89.livejournal.com/38980.html), art post by alexisjane [here](http://alexisjane.livejournal.com/215012.html). Check it out!

“The name's Jensen Ackles, I'm here to see Jeffrey Morgan?” Jensen tries not to sound too much like he's panicking, even though he totally is and has been since his cell phone rang barely twenty minutes ago.

The nurse nods, then looks at her monitor, apparently searching the patients list. “ID, please,” she says without turning towards Jensen.

“I'm his emergency contact,” Jensen adds while fumbling with his wallet, as if that wasn't obvious, but he's nervous and he's blabbering and he doesn't care. “I was informed that he had an accident and was brought to your hospital?”

“I see,” the nurse says with a glance at his ID, scrolling some more down the monitor display. “Do you have a permission to get Mr. Morgan's medical details?”

“I'm family,” Jensen almost spits out, but slaps the documents he specifically brought from home onto the counter. He always hoped he'd never need the certificates Jeff signed for both him and Jared, but here he is.

The nurse is unperturbed. She probably hears these things day after day, so her voice is calm after she scans the documents. “Dr. Mayer will see you in a minute in the family waiting room. It's down the hall to the left, number 131. Mr. Padalecki is already there.”

“Thank you,” Jensen deadpans.

He calms his mind, focuses on the task at hand. Walking down the hallway, one step at a time, without breaking into a run. Ignoring the smell of hand sanitizer and cleaning detergent and hospital. Not thinking about the worst case scenario.

_'He collapsed at work, they said. No one had a clue what was going on.'_

Jared's scared voice, shrill through the tinny speaker of his phone, still rings in Jensen's head.

He opens the door to the family waiting room to find Jared, all six feet and change of him, hunched over, almost curled up in a ball on one of the chairs placed around a low table in the middle of the spacious room. At the click of the lock, he looks up, eyes immediately finding Jensen's.

“Hey,” Jensen chokes out at the frightened look in Jared's too-wide, too-hazel eyes, as he walks up to him.

Jared is on his feet in a second, his arms wrapping around Jensen's middle like a reflex.

“Thank god you're here,” he breathes into Jensen's neck.

Jensen curls his hand around the back of Jared's head and into the strands of his brown hair. They take a few minutes for themselves, just breathing in one another’s scent, and Jensen allows it to ground him. This is familiar territory, after all. And as soon as he's back on familiar ground, and at Jared's side, he can deal with this. They'll get through this, have gotten through enough with each other already.

With a sigh, Jared pulls away and kisses Jensen, just a quick peck on the lips. “You brought the certificates?”

“Yes, the nurse already checked them. The doctor will come in any second,” Jensen nods, then sits down on the chair beside the one Jared had waited on before. “They didn't tell you anything?”

Jared shakes his head as he takes his place beside him. “Not a word.”

“Hm.”

Jared bites his bottom lip, and Jensen notices his eyes going glassy. “Jen, what if...” Jared starts, but interrupts himself.

“No, don't think about it,” he fixes Jared with a determined look, then reaches over to squeeze his hand. “He'll be fine. He's always fine. Remember when he broke his leg at work?”

Jared huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. We were so worried.”

“And it turned out okay, didn't it? So, let's see what the doctor has to say first. Don't panic.”

_Not yet,_ an evil little voice whispers at the back of his mind.

“You're right,” Jared sighs, a tiny smile working its way onto his lips. Then he leans sideways to rest his cheek against Jensen's shoulder. “Thank god you're here,” he repeats, fingers intertwining with Jensen's in his lap.

“I'll always be here,” Jensen says. “Just wait 'til Jeff sees you, he's gonna tell you a thing or two about--”

The door on the other side of the waiting room opens, and Jensen stops himself mid-sentence. He feels his stomach clench with nervousness. Something in the doctor's face makes him do a double take, and it isn't the salt'n'pepper hair that reminds him a lot of Jeff. The doctor isn't nearly as tall, broad or handsome as Jeff, though.

“Mr. Ackles and Mr. Padalecki?” he asks.

“Yes,” Jensen nods, getting to his feet to shake the doctor's hand, and Jared follows his example.

“Dr. Mayer,” the doctor introduces himself. “Please, have a seat.”

They all sit down, the doctor opposite of Jared and Jensen. He still doesn't even crack a smile.

“I understand that the nurse already checked your authorization, I'd just like to take a second look at it.”

Wordlessly, Jensen hands the documents with Jeff's broad signature on the bottom over.

Dr. Mayer browses through them, takes his time to read certain parts, and Jensen notices that Jared is getting jittery from waiting, bouncing his knee up and down. So he puts his hand on Jared's knee, squeezes it to calm him down.

“Gentlemen,” the doctor starts, agonizingly calm and collected. “May I ask what your personal relation to Mr. Morgan is?”

“We're his partners,” Jared answers, impatient as ever, and Jensen can't even scold him for it.

“His partners, as in... you own a business with him?” Dr. Mayer quirks an eyebrow. Other than that, his face stays impassive and unreadable.

They're used to this, but it never fails to annoy Jensen. “No. His  _partners_ . Life partners, lovers.”

The doctor blinks at them. Twice.

“We live together,” Jensen continues to explain. “We own a house, we pay the mortgage together, have done so for years.”

“The... three of you?” Dr. Mayer asks, now obviously confused but starting to get it.

“Yes, exactly.” Jensen nods. 

“Oh,” Dr. Mayer's jaw drops for a second, but then he clears his throat. “Well. I'm sorry, I meant no offense.”

“None taken,” Jensen sighs. “So, how's he doing?”

“Actually,” the doctor's eyes drop down to his notepad, and he lifts a page to peek under it. Jensen only begins to understand that he's avoiding their eyes when he says, “Mr. Morgan was brought in around 12:30 today, but unfortunately, he passed away half an hour ago. He suffered from a severe heart attack. There was nothing we could do for him, and I'm very sorry for your loss.”

Jensen hears the words, but can only stare at the doctor.

Jared's voice sounds broken and shaky when he whispers, “What?” from beside Jensen.

“He'd been unresponsive when he was admitted to the hospital, and had been resuscitated already in the ambulance. He was strong, but his heart had already taken too much damage. We tried to resuscitate him again, but...”

Jensen stares blankly at the wall behind the doctor.

“He's dead?” Jared chokes out, and from the corner of his eye, Jensen sees him curl in on himself, resting his elbows on his knees as he covers his mouth with both hands. “He can't be, please tell me this isn't true,” he says flatly through his fingers.

“It is, I'm sorry,” Dr. Mayer shoots him a short, sympathetic smile.

Jensen feels like he's hovering over them, watching the scene unfold from the outside. His heart thumps painfully in his chest, again, and again, against the inside of his ribcage. He looks down at his hands, at the ring on his right ring finger. A plain, silver one that Jeff gave him about seven years ago, for his birthday. He balls his hand into a fist, thinks about last night in bed, when Jeff complained about the ring scratching over his back.

_'You could at least not wear it in bed,' Jeff snorted._

_'Nah,' Jensen answered with a kiss to Jeff's shoulder. 'It's from you.'_

Jared's sobs are what kick Jensen out of his stupor. Not just sobs – he falls forward, shaking with a choked-off wail that he tries desperately to keep in, but fails. As a reflex, Jensen reaches out to wrap his arm around Jared's shoulders.

“Jared,” he calls out, calm and quiet.

It takes him a couple more times of saying Jared's name before Jared looks up, his eyes red-rimmed, his cheeks tear-stained and wet. Without further ado, Jensen pulls him into his arms, no matter how awkward it is for Jared to have to fold in half to bury his face in Jensen's neck. He's shivering in Jensen's arms, chest rising and falling too quickly, hot tears trailing down Jensen's neck and collarbone.

“Jared,” Jensen murmurs into Jared's hair. “I'm here.”

“I'll... leave you alone for a while. If you have any questions, feel free to let the nurses contact me, they'll help you with the further steps,” the doctor interrupts them, clutching his notepad to his chest in his obvious uncomfortable stance, his speech stilted and awkward.

Jensen is still too beside himself to do much more than nod.

Quietly, the door clicks shut as Dr. Mayer leaves.

Jensen feels empty, hollow, except for the sickening, burning pain in his stomach that only makes him pull Jared closer. Jared hangs onto him, fists clutching Jensen's work shirt which he's crying into, until Jensen just gives up and kneels down on the floor in front of him to hold him more comfortably for both of them.

For countless minutes, Jensen lets Jared soak his clothes with salty tears and shoves the cold, hard reality of life out of his mind.

“I can't believe it,” he hears himself say when he can't feel his legs any more.

“Me neither,” Jared replies, voice rough and raspy, his hair a mess from where Jensen's hands have carded through it. He stopped shaking a minute or so ago, his tears starting to dry, but he's still clutching onto Jensen.

“Do you think we can... go see him?” Jensen asks, then adds, “If you even...”

“Yes, I need... I want to see him, I can't... I can't believe it otherwise.”

When Jared sits back, his face is emotionless except for the tracks of tears over his cheekbones, the snot hanging from his nose, and his trembling lips. The look in his eyes downright scares Jensen – they're empty, wiped clean, none of their usual mirth and joy sparkling in them. It's like Jared's flame has just gone out.

Jensen pulls out a packet of tissues from his pocket and hands one to Jared, who dabs at his face and blows his nose.

He hiccups.

Jensen reaches for both of his hands, covers them with his own, feels Jared's pulse racing under his warm skin.

“How are you so calm?” Jared asks eventually.

“I don't know,” Jensen shakes his head. “It's just... I don't feel anything, everything's just gone. I feel strange because I don't feel anything, but other than that... there's only the urge to look out for you.”

That makes Jared crack a devastated, almost unnoticeable smile. “Jen,” he frowns fondly.

“I do, you're... you're all I have now,” Jensen says, although the words sound dull in his own ears.

This time, Jared pulls him into his arms. “I love you,” he whispers into Jensen's ear, his voice hoarse.

“I love you, too.”

“And whatever comes next, we'll make it through this. Together. Promise,” Jared nudges his nose against Jensen's neck, an encouragement Jensen doesn't need.

“Promise.”

“C'mon, let's go find the nurse.”

Jensen spends the next five minutes telling himself that he'll wake up any minute. He keeps pinching his own arm subtly, but it doesn't work.

His mind is a little less blank, but he still is glad that Jared somehow manages to do the talking.

Then they're led into a room with white walls and a white cabinet and a white bed with a white sheet on it. Jensen takes a deep breath and grasps for Jared's hand at his side – never mind the fact that in all the years they spent together, the times which they had held hands in public can be counted with five fingers.

The nurse folds the sheet back with care, revealing an all too familiar face. “Take all the time you need,” she says, before she slips out of the room and closes the door with a snick.

“Jeff,” Jared whispers, his voice shot to hell.

Jensen reaches out, runs his fingertips over the stubble on Jeff's cheek, over the deep lines beside his lips and his eyes. Laugh lines. Jeff was always laughing. Only now his skin is clammy and cold to the touch, and his lips are slack when Jensen trails his fingers over them, to the side of his neck. He can still feel the muscles under the pale skin, but there's no pulse.

For a moment, time stands still.

It's like a stroke of lightning, straight from Jensen's fingers, up his arms, to his brain.

Jeff is dead.

There will never be a pulse under that skin again.

And the last words Jensen will have ever said to him were, 'Have a nice day at work.' Nothing embarrassing, nothing special. Just the usual goodbye to a man he loved and expected to welcome home at the end of the day.

Jensen falls to his knees without having decided to do so. He rests his head on the thin mattress, right beside Jeff's shoulder, like he prefers – preferred – when he slept next to him.

“Jeff,” he, too, mutters. _I'll miss you so much._

Beside him, Jared pulls up a chair and sits down, his elbows propped up against his knees, his face hidden in his hands. “What are we gonna do now?” he asks between another round of sobs wrecking his body, sounding desperate and not like he's expecting to get an answer. “How are we supposed to go on without you?”

That's when the first tear drops from the corner of Jensen's eye into the mattress, unseen by Jared. He cries in silence, without the hiccups that shake Jared.

Eventually, Jensen turns around to move in-between Jared's legs and hug him tight.

“Let's go home, Jared,” he whispers in Jared's ear. “Then we'll see.”

“Five more minutes,” Jared says, begging with tear-filled puppy dog eyes.

Jensen nods, then turns to look at Jeff.

He looks so peaceful, lying there. Like he's asleep and about to wake up any minute, grousing, 'It's creepy to watch people sleep, Jen.'

Oh how he'd love to watch Jeff sleep right now. Instead, Jensen buries his face in Jared's neck and breathes him in, tells himself that he still has more than someone in a monogamous relationship has in situations like these – he still has a partner. Singular, unfortunately, but also thankfully.

He still has Jared.

Maybe that's the universe's big Fuck You to him for being greedy and having two people who love him and whom he loves, Jensen finds himself thinking bitterly.

With a last look at Jeff, Jensen takes the white sheet and pulls it back over Jeff's face.

When the cold, harsh reality is buried under the piece of fabric, Jensen is back to feeling numb and emotionless. He's stunned, standing beside that bed, and Jared has to break him out of his stupor by tugging at his hand.

“C'mon, Jensen, let's go home.”

His voice is so small, barely audible, completely broken.

“Yeah,” says Jensen, sounding much the same.

***  
  
Home is still home. It's still a two-story house with huge windows and a currently snowed-in garden and a mixed and matched interior that is proof of the three people living here having assembled what they had without care for design.

The worn dark brown leather couch is from Jensen's first apartment. He'd fallen down on it face-first after he broke up with his first boyfriend. He remembers his second date with Jeff, ending on the couch with Jensen straddling Jeff's hips, making out until they were two seconds away from coming in their pants. He also remembers Jared, barely in his twenties, hair still short, sprawled out as he's playing video games with Jensen, hanging out with them, not too long before Jeff cut the red tape and bent him over the back of said couch.

This time, Jensen falls down face-first and buries his head in the pile of cushions that was usually Jeff's end of the couch.

“You want something to drink?” Jared asks from the doorway, and only now does Jensen notice how dry his throat is.

“Coffee would be nice,” he answers over his shoulder.

“Alright.”

Jared comes back two minutes later with two steaming mugs in his hand that smell heavenly. Jensen sits up and accepts his – the orange mug with the chipped edge above the handle – with a grateful nod. The coffee is strong and black and with just a spoonful of sugar, just like Jensen likes it. Jared's is more of the milky-white-light-brown kind, probably consisting of more milk than actual coffee, just like Jared likes it.

Some things will never change.

Other things...

“We should probably call people,” Jared interrupts Jensen's thoughts.

Jensen nods and sips his coffee.

“Who do you think...” Jared's voice sounds muffled, and when Jensen looks over, he sees that Jared's eyes are filling with tears again.

Quietly, he rests his knee against Jared's and shifts a bit closer. “His dad.”

Jared swallows. Jeff's father is a conservative enlisted republican with a lot of resentment for their 'chosen lifestyle'. His mother died long before Jeff even met Jensen.

“We gotta,” Jensen adds around a sigh. “I can do it if you don't want to.”

“Please,” Jared nods. “The guy hates me even more than he hates you, so.”

“Think you could call your parents in the meantime?”

Jared looks at him, eyes lost and unsure, but nods. “Yeah.”

Jensen gets to his feet to fetch the cordless phone from the kitchen, thumbing through the contact list as he returns to the living room until he finds Richard Morgan. Before he presses the call button, Jensen sits down again, seeking Jared's presence, Jared's warmth, just to get through this.

To Jensen's utter dismay, Richard answers on the third ring. “Hello, Jeff,” he says, because not in this lifetime would Jensen or Jared ever call him and Richard knows that as much as Jensen does. However, the words hit Jensen where it hurts the most, like a spear of pain straight through his chest.

“It's Jensen,” he manages to say, but barely. “Hello, Richard.”

Richard's dark voice, so unlike Jeff's warmer timbre, turns cold. “Oh. Jensen.”

Jensen presses his eyes shut and rubs his index finger over the bridge of his nose, feels a headache rising up, so he decides to get this over with. “I'm calling because Jeff had a heart attack at work today.”

“Oh. How is he?” Richard asks after a second's hesitation, and for the first time since Jensen met him, he hears actual worry and concern in his voice.

“He... didn't make it,” Jensen stares down at his hand, clutched around his left knee, before Jared lays his hand on top of it for a short second. “I'm sorry.”

“I'm...” Richard starts, then breaks off mid-sentence. Eventually, he says, “I'm sorry for your loss, too. Do you need any help with, you know?”

Jensen allows himself to sigh. He knows Richard is just asking to be polite, and the last person he needs around him right now is his one father-in-law that can't stand him. “Jared and I will handle everything. We'll let you know when the funeral is.”

Beside him, Jared fumbles with his phone to blow his nose. This time, Jensen reaches over to rub his hand over his thigh, comforting him.

“You do that.”

There's an awkward silence spreading between them, so Jensen coughs. “I'll better get going. We have some more people to call.”

“Yes. Bye, Jensen,” Richard still sounds too calm, too collected. Jensen doesn't want to judge, though, since they're pretty similar on that point – Jensen has been the calm and collected one, so far, too.

He hangs up and pulls Jared into his arms, who is now on the phone with what sounds like either his mom or Megan, and crying once again.

“Yes, Mom. Okay. Yes, he's here, do you want to... alright,” he sniffles into Jensen's shirt, then holds his phone up to Jensen.

“Hello,” Jensen greets her, and pulls Jared closer with an arm wrapped around his neck.

“Jensen,” she says, voice already thick and wet with tears. “Honey, I'm so sorry. How are you doing?”

Jensen huffs, then runs his fingers through the hair at the back of Jared's head. “Holding on, I guess. Someone's gotta.”

Jared presses a wet kiss to his collarbone, a silent thank you.

“I'm just glad that you two are together for this. We'll come over to Austin as soon as we can, but Gerry needs to finish up at work and Megan... We'll see, we'll call you, alright? Just, we'll be there for you, promise. And if you need anything, you call me. You hear me, son?”

Jensen can't help but crack a sad smile. “Yes,  _mom_ ,” he tries to joke. It comes out flat and emotionless.

Jared's arms tighten around his waist.

Jensen wraps up the call, then proceeds to call his own parents, Jeff's workplace, Megan, Jared's older brother Jeff, Josh, Mackenzie, all of it with Jared resting against his chest. By the end of his last call, Jensen is beyond exhausted.

“Thank you so much,” Jared whispers into his neck, pressing more kisses there. “I couldn't have done it.”

“It's alright,” Jensen replies, closing his eyes for just a second. Despite having said it multiple times now, part of him is still in limbo. It's 6 pm, right around the time that Jeff would usually be coming home. But the house is quiet, too quiet, and no one opens the front door.

There's no clicking of the lock, no heavy boots stomping down the hallway, no deep, cheerful “I'm home!”

Jensen can tell that Jared is thinking the same thing, watching the clock on the wall, listening, and looking more desperate and devastated by the second.

“I'm waiting, too,” Jensen says. “Although I know he won't come home. But it's... so hard to believe.”

“Yeah,” Jared agrees, nuzzling his face into Jensen's chest.

“Are you hungry?” It's also right about the time Jensen usually starts dinner.

“No. We should eat, though.”

“What do you want?”

Jared doesn't say anything for a while, before he says. “I want Jeff's grilled mackerel.”

“Will Jensen's grilled mackerel do?” Jensen asks, dull.

“Yes.”

_It will have to._

The words are unspoken, but Jensen hears them clear as day as he walks to the kitchen and takes out the fish Jeff already prepared before going to work today. Not even thinking twice about being the one to have to grill it tonight.

Jensen stares into the pan too long and almost overheats the oil.

Of course the fish doesn't taste right afterwards, but it's not like either of them has much of an appetite. They pick the expensive filet apart, only eating half their portions. Of course, it's also far too much, since it was meant as a meal for three.

“Do you think the funeral home is still open?” Jared asks, pushing his plate away. “We really need to call one.”

“They have a 24/7 service hotline, I'd assume,” Jensen nods through the final effort to at least eat his mashed potatoes, but eventually gives up. “Alright, then. Shall we?”

Afterwards, Jensen packs the leftovers into the fridge in silence. They clear the table and put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Jared gets the cordless phone again while Jensen searches for the nearest funeral home on Google, and together, they sit down and stare in dread at their phones for a while.

“It's so _official_ ,” Jared eventually sums up their thoughts.

“I know,” Jensen sighs, then turns his head to not have to look at Jared, or else he'd start to cry.

“Jensen,” Jared reaches out, lays his hand on Jensen's knee. “You know you can, right? You don't have to--”

“Yes, I do,” Jensen throws back with probably more force than necessary. “I'm the older one and I... I need to hold on for the both of us.”

“Because I can't?” There's a challenge in Jared's words, and only a little hurt pride. Slowly, he shakes his head. “Let me help, Jen. We can carry this weight together, so let me.”

Jensen looks at him and meets his sad, tired eyes, takes in the lines of the frown around his lips, the tension in his forehead, his crestfallen posture. All he sees is a Jared who needs him right now, and not the other way around.

“I'm good,” he says, forcing a smile. “Don't worry about me.”

“Are you kidding?” Jared huffs. “Of course I worry about you.”

“Anyway, let's get this over with,” Jensen switches the topic and calls the funeral home. Jared tsks at him from across the table.

They get an appointment for tomorrow morning and the first official condolences for their loss, although the girl on the phone line didn't seem to grasp just what Jensen meant with 'Our partner passed away today.' Jensen didn't protest – he's too tired and too used to it.

“I'm heading to bed,” he announces after the call.

“Good idea,” Jared agrees. “Not that I expect to get much sleep, but I'm...” 

He trails off, leaves the rest of the sentence to Jensen.

_But I'm a wreck, I'm a mess, I'm tired down to my bones._

_I'm in denial._

_I'm lost._

Jensen hears it all. “Me too,” he mutters, grabs Jared's hand and leads him to the bedroom.

Except that their bedroom isn't just their bedroom. It's Jeff's bedroom, the master bedroom, and they find themselves standing in front of the closed door, undecided about what to do.

“I don't think I can sleep in there tonight,” Jared sighs. “I'm gonna be in my room. You wanna come with me?”

Jensen bites at his bottom lip, but eventually shakes his head. “No, I think it'd be better if I sleep alone, if you're okay with that.”

Jared nods after hesitating just a moment. “Alright. Good night, Jensen.” He's not troubled by Jensen's wish, and Jensen knows it.

So Jensen kisses him goodnight and heads for his own room. He's glad that they decided on this a long time ago – because no matter how much they loved each other, they were three grown men. They had stress and issues and sometimes they fought, and they all needed their own space to retreat to if need be.

Therefore, while they mostly slept in the big bed in Jeff's room, occasionally they would stay on their own, in their own rooms.

It's easier, sleeping alone. At least, it sometimes was easier than sharing a bed with Jeff's snores and the sheet-hogging glomp that is Jared. Taking the luxury to sleep alone in his own bed was something Jensen had enjoyed, then and again.

Today, he's glad that sleeping alone only means he won't wake up tomorrow, Jared spooning his back and his arms reaching out for the other side of the bed, where Jeff won't be.

It also means he can't fall asleep, because he misses their warmth and the tiny noises they make, the small shakes of them moving on the mattress.

Jensen watches the numbers on his clock tick up to 10:36 pm, and then – three hours after going to bed – there's an almost unnoticeable knock on his door.

“Jen? You awake?” Jared sticks his head through the door, voice a shaky whisper.

“Yeah,” he says and wordlessly holds up the sheet for Jared to slip under.

“Thanks,” Jared sighs, snuggling closer. “I couldn't fall asleep.”

“Me neither.”

“I missed you.”

Jensen nods against Jared's shoulder. “And Jeff.”

“Yeah,” Jared takes a deep breath, and just like that, the tears are flowing again.

This time, Jensen cries with him in silence, salty drops dripping into Jared's wild mop of hair and onto the bed sheets. In the darkness of the night, it's somehow easier to give in.

In the end, they cry themselves to sleep that night. Jensen just loses consciousness some time later, with his arms wrapped firmly around Jared, laying face to face on their sides, bodies curled into each other, noses almost touching.

They've never slept in a position like that, in all of the years that they've been with each other.

But it allows Jensen to feel Jared's breath on his face, slow and steady. The certainty that he'd notice if something would happen to Jared is what makes Jensen let go and drift off himself.

***  
  
It couldn't become more obvious how much Jeff is missing than it does the following morning.

As per usual, Jared wakes up first and goes for a run.

As per usual, Jensen rolls onto the warm spot left by him and sleeps another half hour.

But when Jared returns, Jensen is still in bed. Usually, it's the smell of fresh coffee and bacon sizzling in the pan that wake him and make him stagger into the kitchen, where Jeff stands in his boxers and an apron and nothing else, smile firmly in place.

Today, Jared sits down on the bed as he shakes Jensen awake.

“Jensen, wake up. We gotta start breakfast.”

And just like that, Jensen's entire world caves in completely.

“I didn't,” he curls in on himself, feels hot tears pooling in the corner of his eyes as his stomach clenches with pain and his throat closes up. “I should've.”

“Jen,” Jared lays down beside him and wraps his arms around him, presses kisses to Jensen's neck and shoulder blade. He smells of sweat and clean morning air, but it does nothing to calm Jensen down.

It doesn't lessen the pain of knowing, just knowing that Jeff is gone. Not just gone for a few days for a business trip, but gone forever. This time, it hits home, hard.

For countless minutes, Jared lets Jensen cry and holds him through it. And every time Jensen thinks he's done and the tears dry, he's circling back to the thought that it will never be the same again, and that's it, he's back to sobbing into his pillow.

Jared's hands are soft and strong, running over his sleep-warm skin, comforting, soothing, his lips a constant reminder that he's there, Jensen isn't alone with his pain.

Jensen doesn't know how much time has passed when he eventually turns around to face Jared.

“You okay?” Jared asks quietly, and it's obvious by his glazed eyes that he's been crying too.

“No,” Jensen shakes his head and picks himself up, sitting on the bed. “But we need to eat breakfast. So you go hop in the shower and I'll get to cooking.”

“If you're alright with that,” Jared shoots him a worried look and squeezes his hip.

Jensen nods and kisses him, quick and affectionate. “Baby steps, right?”

Jared's bottom lip trembles when he ducks his head, and there's a tear rolling down his cheek. “C'mon.” He tugs at Jensen's hand.

Jensen follows him into the hallway and down to the kitchen.

He's never felt so lost, without control and without a clue of what to do in all his life. It's like someone ripped out his roots, pulled the carpet out from under his feet, blew up the rock his whole existence was built on. Sure, there's Jared, and he's the only reason that Jensen even managed to get out of bed in the first place. He's what's keeping Jensen sane right now.

Really, he has no idea how people in regular relationships do this.

He makes pancakes, more or less on autopilot, makes too much batter, and subsequently too many pancakes. Jared notices, but only raises an eyebrow when he returns from the shower.

“When is our appointment?” Jensen asks from the stove.

“Half past eight. In an hour,” Jared supplies.

“We should probably pack up all the documents, you know.”

“We should do that, yes.”

“And call into work. I'll take the rest of the week off,” Jensen adds as an afterthought.

“That's probably for the best. I'll do that too.”

***  
  
“Welcome to the Austin Funeral Home,” a girl with long brown hair bound into a ponytail and a sympathetic smile greets them. “How can I help you, gentlemen?”

“Good morning. We called yesterday,” Jensen gives her as much of a smile as he can manage right now. If it looks like the edges of his lips are barely twitching, well. “Ackles and Padalecki, we've got an appointment.”

“Ah, yes, I see,” the receptionist says with a look at her monitor. “If you would please follow me, I'll escort you to Ms. Cassidy.”

“Thank you,” Jensen replies and Jared nods.

Ms. Cassidy turns out to be a young, blonde woman with a friendly expression and overall gentle demeanor. “Good morning, nice to meet you,” she greets them with a firm handshake. “Please take a seat.”

They all sit down, she asks them about coffee, and they both decline.

“Very well. So, would you be so kind as to explain your situation to me?”

“Our partner passed away yesterday,” Jensen says, not bothering to sound anything but dull, just like he feels.

“Your partner? As in, business associate?” she asks politely.

Jared huffs so silently that it's almost unnoticeable.

Jensen sighs. “No. Our lover, life partner, the guy we share a house with.”

She stares at them for what seems like a minute before she says, “So the three of you...”

“Yes, the three of us,” Jensen confirms with a nod, maybe sounding a bit too exasperated.

She holds up a hand. “I'm not trying to be insensitive here, Mr. Ackles, Mr. Padalecki, but if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to get my colleague to take on your case.”

Jensen huffs. “Excuse me?”

“Um, it's not like it sounds,” Ms. Cassidy says, gesturing to calm Jensen down. “It's really not. It's just... I think he has... different experiences than I have. And I think he's better suited to understand the situation you're in.”

Jensen raises an eyebrow, frowns without trying to hide it.

“Sure,” Jared gestures with his hand, encouraging her.

Ms. Cassidy gets up and rounds the corner into a hallway. They don't see her for the following few minutes and wait in silence.

When she returns, it's with a guy in tow. He's tall, but Jensen guesses that Jared and he are still taller, with chocolate brown hair and bright blue eyes that shine with too much sympathy.

“Good morning,” he greets them. “I'm Misha Collins.”

“Morning, Mr. Collins,” Jared greets him, Jensen echoes it.

“You can call me Misha,” he offers with a small smile as they shake hands. “Don't worry about it, we'll get to know each other pretty soon and pretty elaborately. I don't bite. Usually.”

“Okay, then, Misha,” Jensen nods, still busy sizing the guy up. “I'm Jensen, this is Jared.”

“So let me say right off the bat,” Misha reaches for one of the brochures stacked at the end of the table, flips through it as he sits down behind the desk, then returns it to its former place. “We will take care of everything you want us to or the deceased would've wanted us to. So if he wants to be buried in a rainbow urn, I'll get you one.”

That makes Jared huff out a short, humorless laugh. “He'd roll over twice before letting us do something like that.”

“Yeah,” Jensen agrees, but can't help the edge of his lip twitching upwards at the mental image of Jeff reacting to being buried in a rainbow urn.

“So tell me about him,” Misha looks at them, waits with an excited and open expression. “What was he like?”

“He was.. strong-willed, stubborn sometimes. Gruff. The kind of man who you'd never think of as gay,” Jensen answers, then sighs. “Tall and handsome, scruffy with an incredible smile. And he was kind, and gentle, more so than people expected him to be when they first met him. Jeff was a good guy, and he--”

Jensen breaks off as he feels tears welling up in his eyes. Damn, he can't cry, not here, not now.

“How did he die?” Misha asks carefully.

“Two heart attacks. He survived the first one with reanimation, but the second one...” Jared hangs his head and bites his lip.

“I see. So no 'strong at heart' expressions at the service,” Misha makes some notes onto the funeral home's stationary, which looks like it was made in the 80s and got recycled for notes.

And that sentence, as insensitive as it seemed at a second look – now that Jensen thought about it – came out so innocent, so without any maliciousness or snide backhanded second meaning that Jensen can't really mind.

A look at Jared tells him that he shares his opinion.

“Please refrain from such phrases, that would be nice,” Jensen says to Misha, not in an unfriendly way.

“Got it. And you three shared a house together?”

“Yes, a house,” this time, Jared takes over answering, until Jensen composes himself.

“With a mortgage and a dog and a white picket fence...?”

“Pretty much. No dog, though.”

“Unfortunately,” Jared adds. “Remember how Jeff always wanted a puppy?”

Jensen huffs. “And we never got around to adopting one.”

“Can we now?” Jared looks at him with huge, begging eyes.

“No,” Jensen returns with a sigh. “We really have to focus on other things right now.”

“It might help in the long run, though,” Misha throws in. “A lot of people appreciate the comfort a pet grants them while they go through their mourning process.”

“I already have him, I don't need a pet,” Jensen says, teasing Jared and patting his arm. Jared knows how Jensen means it, so it's fine.

Misha smiles at them, although the nature of the smile is unreadable.

“We digress,” Jensen states.

“Well, then.” Misha looks back at his notes to scribble something down. “As for the formalities, he died in a hospital, right?”

 

Jensen confirms with a nod.

 

“So they will have his death certificate. That's good. Now, do you know if Jeff left you a last will?”

“Yes, we handled all of that shortly after signing the mortgage,” Jensen pulls out a stack of papers that are still brand-new and shining white.

A paper they signed hoping to never have to use it.

It's a contract of inheritance.

“I see,” says Misha, scanning the documents. “I see there are no requirements concerning the funeral being requested. It's always necessary to respect the deceased's wishes.”

“Just as he would've if something would've happened to one of us,” Jared throws in defensively, head ducked, not meeting Misha's eyes.

“Um.” Misha replies, his voice calm and neutral, sounding way too easy about this whole ordeal as he leans forward on his elbows and gives them a comforting smile. “Just to clear this up, I've lived in a polyamorous relationship before. Which is the reason Katie came to fetch me to handle your case, and not one of the guys who wouldn't know how to deal with this.”

Jensen swallows.

Jared too.

“Okay,” Jensen nods. “I see.”

“I like that you're so straight forward,” Jared states.

“Well, let's just say I'm as sick of the way queer and polyamorous couples are treated as you are. So, feel free to talk to me about anything you want.”

They both nod.

“The doctor at the hospital handled it pretty well, I have to give him that,” Jared sighs.

“Yeah,” Jensen agrees.

Misha seems surprised. “He didn't give some kind of backhanded comment?”

“Not at all,” Jensen shakes his head. “I guess the situation was too serious.”

“Right. Can I ask if you have people to support you? Your parents, Jeffrey's parents?”

Jensen nods quickly.

“My parents will drive up from San Antonio as soon as they can,” Jared explains. “Jensen's are supportive, too. We talked to Jeff's dad yesterday, but we'd rather not involve him in the ceremony or any of the preparations. He doesn't particularly like us, if you know what I mean.”

Misha raises an eyebrow. “Don't tell me he's one of those homophobic--”

Jensen interrupts him. “Let's say he wasn't very happy when Jeff and I started dating, but when Jared became part of the picture, he stopped talking to us. Yesterday was the first time in three years that I've talked to him at all.”

“I see,” Misha sighs, then browses through the documents in front of him again. “The way you've handled all of this beforehand though makes it easy to arrange everything without involving him. By law, he's the deceased’s only direct family member, since the three of you aren't married.”

“Jeff ruled his father out as an heir pretty much from the day he and I decided that we'd be together for the long haul,” Jensen explains, not without pride. “That first will he wrote back then doesn't exist anymore. We updated it together with Jared.”

Misha nods approvingly. “Well done. That makes my work a lot easier. So, do you think he'd prefer to be cremated?”

“No, he didn't,” Jensen answers quick as a shot, aware of Jared turning towards him.

“Then we'll bury him in a casket.”

Jared looks at him, surprised. “Really? He told you that?”

Jensen nods. “Way before your time, though.”

“May I ask how the three of you met?” Misha asks. “I'm gonna need some info about him from you for the service, but I can't lie that I'm also curious as hell.” He smiles to reassure them, and Jensen can't help but feel its soothing effect on him.

His lips curl into a small smile at the memory. “Jeff and I met about twelve years ago. I was still in college and lived in a shared apartment off campus, and Jeff lived across the hall. We hit it off from the moment we met. He's… he  _was_ a history and literature professor at UT Austin, which impressed me to no end back then.” Jensen huffs. “We dated and it was all well, we got a house after I started working. And before we know it, there's this guy,” he points at Jared, then reaches over to squeeze his thigh, “worming his way into our life.”

Jared ducks his head, a fond smile on his face. “I was an engineering student and I only took history for a semester as general credit, you know? And the prof was just incredibly funny and hot. By the end of the semester, I had found out that he was gay and had a smoking hot boyfriend, which was kinda disheartening. And then I found out they would sometimes go to a certain place and... take someone home. That's how that happened.”

“He just never left afterwards,” Jensen chuckles a bit. “Thank god for that,” he adds, squeezing Jared's hand.

Jared promptly bursts into tears.

“I'm sorry,” Jensen pulls him into his arms and pats his back. “I didn't meant to...”

“No, it's okay. It's just... It hit me just now.”

Jared doesn't need to say anything more, and Jensen understands. He sighs.

“I know it sounds presumptuous right now, but it'll be alright. Time is your friend, here,” Misha says, his voice a soothing rumble that settles deep in Jensen's hurting soul. “It's only been a day. Take all the time you need. Grief is good, mourning is good. You've got each other to work through this, but never forget that _you've got each other._ So take care of each other.”

The look in his eyes is firm and has a depth that is unexpected.

“You sound like you're speaking from experience,” Jared states through his tears, the question clear in his tone.

“I am,” Misha says. “Our partner didn't die, though. He left. And we forgot to look out for each other, and forgot to make the best out of the situation as it was. We couldn't change it, after all, but we got resentful against one another, tried to make it one or the other's fault. In the end, we broke up, despite the fact that we loved each other. All I'm saying is, don't make the same mistake she and I made.”

Jensen looks at Jared's tear-filled eyes and nods, a silent promise that he sees reflected back at him.

Misha's handshake is firm and sure when they say goodbye an hour later, having sorted out most of the paperwork. They leave with a stack of papers to work through – life insurance, the inheritance paper for their lawyers, bank account documents. It's a lot to do, a lot of people to call, but Jensen figures that keeping themselves busy will help them get through the worst of it.

But Misha also sent them home to fetch clothes for Jeff, the ones he should wear for the public viewing and open casket funeral.

Which means they will have to go into the master bedroom.

Which is easier said than done.

“What if we just go in, grab that one suit he has, and leave?” Jared suggests, looking desperate.

Jensen hums, lost in thought. “Do you want to pick the suit? He's got a lot of clothes that fit him way better.”

“I don't know,” Jared shrugs and sighs. “I thought it would be the elegant thing to choose, you know, since the casket will be open. We can't... bury him in his threadbare Hard Rock Café t-shirt, can we?”

Jensen hums again. “Why not?”

“What will they think if they see him like that?”

“That he looks like he always did?” Jensen replies.

They stand still in front of the closed bedroom door, just looking at each other.

Eventually, Jensen reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “I'm gonna call Misha and ask.”

He selects the recently saved contact and waits for the call to connect, then puts it on speaker as soon as the waiting tune comes through. Jared stares into space.

“Austin Funeral Home, this is Katie Cassidy, how can I help you?”

“Um, hello, this is Jensen Ackles speaking. I just had an appointment with you, er, with Mr. Collins to be precise. Is he available at the moment?” Jensen says.

“Hold on a second, please,” she answers. “I'll get him.”

After a minute, Jensen hears footsteps approaching the phone, then a rustle at the other end of the line. “Jensen?”

“Hey, Misha,” Jensen says, allows himself to get soothed by the warm rumble of Misha's voice. “We're currently picking clothes for Jeff, so. Just wondering, does it have to be a suit? Because the suit doesn't really suit him, you know.”

“People usually pick a suit, but it doesn't have to be. If you want, you can just dress him the way he would've dressed. Is this the whole point of this call? Or what gives?” Misha inquires.

Jared huffs and explains, “Jensen brought up dressing him in his favorite Hard Rock Café t-shirt, which is like, old and not really elegant.”

“I see,” Misha says and pauses for a second. “Well, what do you think he would've preferred?” 

“The t-shirt,” they both say in unison, then look at each other.

“And what would he have said if he saw you questioning his fashion choices?” Misha prompts, the smile evident in his voice.

Jensen can't help but feel a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. “He'd act all insulted and would accuse Jared of being worse than him where bad fashion choices are involved.”

“Yeah,” Jared agrees.

“There you've got your answer,” Misha sounds amused now. “Now. Pick whatever you feel like suits him best. I know this is hard, and it's hard for everyone who has to go through this. That's why so many people pick a suit, it's an easy choice. However, I have always believed that if you actively think about what he'd want to wear, it's easier to deal with. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yes,” Jensen confirms after a look at Jared, who nods slowly. “We do.”

“Great. Also, would you mind coming in tomorrow so we can pick out a casket? I forgot to ask you, Katie had to remind me,” Misha grumbles. “I'm sorry.”

“It's fine. When should we be there?” Jensen asks.

“Around ten. Bring the clothes, please.”

“Okay. We'll see you tomorrow, then,” Jensen nods to himself.

“Yeah. See you tomorrow, Misha,” Jared throws in.

“Bye, you two. Hang in there.”

With that, Jensen ends the call.

“I like him,” Jensen admits. “He's a nice guy.”

“Yeah, he is,” Jared agrees.

Then they're back to staring at the door for a solid five minutes.

“This is stupid,” Jensen grumbles and reaches for the door handle. “It's just a room, and we used it every day.”

But when he opens the door and the stuffy air hits him, Jensen flinches. The bed is unmade, sheets tangled and the three pillows in disarray. There's the framed picture of the three of them on Jeff's bedside table, smiling into the camera in front of the Sydney opera house, taken by a stranger they asked on the street.

Jensen walks over and picks it up, studies it further.

They're still so young in the picture; Jared was barely out of college, back then, and Jeff's beard was notably less gray, just like the hair around his temples.

“Our first holiday together,” Jared wraps his arms around Jensen's waist from behind and rests his head on Jensen's shoulder.

Jensen tilts his head sideways, rests it against Jared's. “He's wearing the shirt,” Jensen's voice breaks mid-sentence, but he doesn't care.

Jared nods against his shoulder. “Do you think we shouldn't pick it, after all?”

Jensen sighs. “No. I think I wouldn't be able to throw it out, but I couldn't stand keeping it after everything.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I'm thinking the pair of Wrangler jeans to go with it? The dark blue ones?”

“Alright,” Jensen nods and heads for the closet, picking out the shirt and jeans in question. “Some kind of jacket?”

Jared looks at him and opens his mouth to answer, but Jensen knows what he is going to say.

“The leather jacket, why do I even ask,” Jensen rolls his eyes at himself.

Jared nods.

Then they just stand there, in the room that used to be the central point of their life together, looking at the pile of clothes in Jensen's arms, then at each other, then around the room. Jensen takes in all the pictures, the laundry basket, the disorder of items all around him, and can't help but smile. This was... home, the place he felt most comfortable, his preferred place to sit back and recharge, ideally with his head against Jeff's shoulder and Jared wrapped around his back, little particles of dust dancing in the sunlight dipping the room into warm reds and oranges.

“Think we can sleep in here ever again?” Jared asks wistfully as he drapes his arm across Jensen's shoulders.

“I dunno,” Jensen shrugs. “Maybe. But not any time soon.”

“I know what you mean,” Jared sighs. “I still... never mind.”

“No, tell me,” Jensen nudges his side.

“I can still see him, you know. Like he'll walk through the door any second now. Or like he’s lying in that bed and waiting for us. It's like his presence never left and it's just-- I can't deal with it,” Jared admits, heat in his voice, his hands starting to shake. “I can't believe it, and when I convince myself that I have to believe it 'cause it's the truth, it hurts so much.”

Jensen swallows around the lump in his throat.

“I'm so angry,” Jared continues. “At the world and stupid karma and at myself for not having made the most of the time we had, because I was so stupid to believe that we still had decades together.”

“Jared, hey,” Jensen tries to reason. He wants to tell him that it's alright, it's normal, different stages of grief and all that stupid reasonable bullshit Misha explained to them. He wants to tell him that he shouldn't be angry at himself because there's nothing he can do now. He wants to tell him that all of this isn't anything they can change, so he'd rather not get caught up in the useless effort.

Except that as soon as the thoughts hit home, Jensen balls his hands into fists on reflex and clenches his teeth instead of holding onto Jared the way he intended to in the first place. On the inside, his chest burns with hot, white rage.

“Jensen?”

“Me too,” Jensen presses out between his lips. “Why did he have to go? What'd he do? And why him, why now, why are we the ones who have to suffer? And I know I won't get answers to this, and I'm having a really hard time not punching a wall or something.”

“We still got the boxing sack in the basement,” Jared says, eyes downcast, filled with anger and despair.

“It's not even attached to the ceiling. And it's ancient, I'm afraid I might punch through to the sand if I hit it too hard,” Jensen feels himself deflate at the tease.

Jared rolls his eyes. “Just because it was mine and Chad's couch in college.”

“Exactly because of that,” Jensen clicks his tongue and eventually looks up at Jared, then at the clothes in his hands. “We shouldn't need to do this,” he states with emphasis, pushing the pile of fabrics to his chest. “Jeff should be here.”

“He'd tell us to man up and get through it, though,” Jared adds for consideration.

“Yeah, he would, and I'd really need him to do that right now,” Jensen feels the lump in his throat expanding, making it hard to breathe, constricting his lungs and shortening his breath. In the end, he gives in, bursts into hot tears, and sobs into Jeff's old t-shirt that they both love so much.

Jared embraces him in that kind of big bear hug of his that means he'll protect Jensen from whatever might come at them now, but his chest, firm and warm against Jensen's cheek, just isn't Jeff's. It's too hard, too high up, doesn't smell like Jensen is used to. Well, it smells of Jared in all the right ways, but not of Jeff, like he needs it to right now.

“I need him,” Jensen sobs, fisting his hand into Jared's shirt. “I can't do this without him.”

“Me too,” Jared says, and they break down to sit on the bed, leaning against and clutching at each other and at the clothes covering the sheets between them.

That night, they each sleep in their own bed. They both have dark shadows underlining their eyes the next morning, but Jared puts to words what Jensen is thinking while they're sitting at the breakfast table.

“It's easier, somehow,” he says.

Jensen agrees. It's easier to forget the hole in their midst that Jeff left if he just pretends that it's okay if Jared isn't in his arms, either.


	2. ... hard

Jensen is restless, driven by a fire burning low under his skin. These kind of days happen, have happened before, but Jeff had always been there to soothe the flame and mull down Jensen's irritation. Today, it's even worse, thanks to his general anger at the world and fate itself.

Nothing, exactly nothing, could've kept Jensen that morning from yelling at the insurance guy on the phone. Probably not even Jeff.

But still, here he is, explaining to some call-center agent with a stick up his ass that yes, they should transfer Jeff's life insurance money to their joint bank account, and no, he was not the only widower, they both were Jeff's 'widowers', since that seems to be the only word the guy understands.

“We signed this, and our names are on that insurance bill, so what the hell is your problem with this?” Jensen eventually snarls into the receiver, seriously pissed now.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Ackles, I just have to check for personal relations and--”

Jensen clears his throat and interrupts him. “I just lost my partner,” he states, calm and collected. Jared would call his tone 'dangerous'. “And I've sent you all the paperwork you need to pay us the money Jeff paid for every month for decades, and you've got a problem with the way we're living our life? That it? In that case, you can connect me straight to your supervisor.”

Among the multiple apologies, Jensen hears a, “I'll get it done as soon as possible, Sir.”, so he quickly wishes him a good day and hangs up.

“Asshole?” Jared asks from the sidelines, both eyebrows high on his forehead. He looks cute in the apron he's wearing, always has, so Jensen gets up from the kitchen table and walks over to bury his face in Jared's chest.

“You should eat before we head out to the funer-- to the meeting with Misha,” Jared reminds him with a pat on his back and points the spatula in his hand at the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon on the counter.

Jensen hums noncommittally into the fabric of Jared's shirt.

Jared sighs. “Hey, I know this is bullshit. But we gotta work through it, and we're gonna get it done. Don't worry about idiots like that clerk.”

“Been there, done that, you mean?” Jensen presses a quick kiss to Jared's collarbone, then retreats.

Jared nods, then pushes the plate of food towards him again.

Jensen gives in and returns to the kitchen table to eat.

***  
  
“How are you holding up?” Misha asks them when they arrive at the funeral home later that day.

Jared shrugs, and Jensen says, “Hanging in there.”

Misha gives them a sympathetic smile and a pat on the shoulder. “That's enough for now,” he answers, a kind smile dancing on his lips. “If you'd follow me, please?”

“We, uh, we've got his clothes in here,” Jensen adds as an afterthought and hands Misha the bag he’s carrying in his hand.

Misha takes it without looking into it. “Right. So, what did you go with, in the end?”

“The Hard Rock Café shirt, because there are so many memories to it,” Jensen explains. “A suit wouldn't have been like Jeff at all.”

“I see,” Misha nods and Jensen thinks he sees a tiny smile on his lips as he leads them to a room in the back of the building. “Now, this is where we keep the caskets. Do you have any preferences or anything you'd like to exclude right from the beginning?”

“Actually,” Jared steps forward, runs his hand over the top of a white casket displayed up front. “No idea. We didn't even do any research. What's different about these?”

Misha raises an eyebrow. He seems to think for a second, but then he answers, “Mostly, what you're willing to pay and what kind of wood you're going with. Some people also want a more chiseled and ornamented casket, lots of carved twirls and flowers. That's for you to decide.”

Jensen looks at the many, many caskets in the huge room and rubs his tired eyes. It's not even lunchtime, and his eyeballs are burning. He should've worn his glasses. “Any recommendations?”

Misha shrugs. “Not really. It all comes down to what you want. Plain and simple or...” he leaves the sentence unfinished. “What sort of wood do you want?”

Jensen and Jared stare at each other for a long moment before the both exhale deeply. “No idea,” they both say, and Jensen bets he looks as helpless as Jared right now.

“Is there a color or something that you associate with Jeff?” Misha prompts. “Did he have a specific hobby that related in one way or another to wood? Something that's meaningful to you, even if it's seemingly too little a thing to even consider.”

With his index finger tapping against his bottom lip repeatedly, Jensen ponders. Jared returns from where he was standing a few feet away, his warm presence soothing at Jensen's side. His eyes are roaming over the display, flickering, thinking.

“Dave,” he states flatly after a while, turning to Jensen.

Jensen looks up at him with wide eyes. “Yes, that's  _perfect_ .”

Misha's eyes shift from Jensen to Jared and back, both amused and curious.

“Rosewood it is,” Jensen says towards him.

“Do I want to know the story behind that?” Misha prompts.

Jensen chuckles, can't help it at the thought, the memories flooding his brain which still lives mostly in denial. “Jeff had a single rosebush in our garden, which he obsessed over. It always needed to be perfectly trimmed and watered and taken care of. It was his pride and joy, the first thing he'd inspect in the garden as soon as the snow was gone and... well, that's why it’s got a name – Dave. Jared named it, and the name kind of stuck.”

Misha smiles back at him, which is why Jensen notices at all that he's smiling, too.

“Well, then. Rosewood it is.”

Jensen nods. “And the design... Something simple.”

“Yeah, he would've scolded us for buying him a fancy casket just to bury it,” Jared laughs under his breath.

“True,” Jensen smiles at him. “Alright, let's do this.”

***  
  
Jensen is hiding in his room and has been doing so for the past five minutes.

The reason being his loving, nice, caring, and absolutely overwhelming in-laws, plus Jared's little sister.

From the second they arrived about two hours ago, it's been nothing but “How are you, Jensen?”, “Go ahead and lay down, I'll handle this for you, Jensen,” and “I understand if you need a moment to cry, just tell me, Jensen.” They're all so damn understanding and sympathetic that Jensen just can't  _stand_ it. It makes his chest clench and his stomach twist and he barely managed to get out an excuse before retreating to his room.

It's not like he needs to cry, but the house is suddenly so noisy and full after three days without Jeff, and Jensen can hardly stand the full force of the Padaleckis on a good day – much less so now.

He's grateful to Jared's family for being here and staying with them, he really is. He is happy to see them, happy to have someone else around beside Jared, who only makes it more obvious that they aren't  _complete_ .

Jensen rubs his tired eyes with the heels of his hands, then hugs his knees to his chest, curling in on himself where he's slumped against the door to his room.

It hurts, everything just hurts. His limbs, his head, his heart.

And if he's going to have to listen to the big speech about how everything has a reason and God has a plan and Jeff's in a better place now one more time, he's going to vomit.

He needs someone reasonable to talk to.

Usually, that would've been Jared or Jeff, but Jared wouldn't understand. Not when it comes to his family, who all just mean well - and Jensen knows that, too, he just can't deal with it.

Jensen pulls out his phone from his pocket and thumbs through his contacts.

It's also not a topic that he'd want to discuss with his parents, who're on their way here themselves.

So Jensen taps the first number that stands out to him.

“Austin Funeral Home, this is Misha Collins speaking. How can I help you?”

His voice is warm and a little rough around the edges, cracking with the background noise of the connection, but it does the job of calming Jensen down all the same.

“Hey, it's Jensen,” he sighs, feeling relieved. “How do I deal with overprotective in-laws?”

Misha doesn't laugh, doesn't joke about it despite the obvious opportunity and the fact that Jensen did try to keep this light. “Let them take care of you,” Misha says.

“But they're constantly dancing circles around me with their caring and their nurturing and their 'it's okay to cry' mentality and I – I just can't handle this, Misha,” Jensen admits, calm and quiet.

“No one expects you to handle it right now, Jensen,” the little smile that has somehow already imprinted itself onto Jensen's brain is clearly notable in Misha's voice. “I'm serious. No one.”

“It's just that I'm not the type to... when my granddad died, five years ago, I didn't cry. Not because I'm the manly man in this relationship and suppress my feelings or some bullshit – sorry – but I'm not the type to demand of others to spoil and pamper me until I feel better. It just makes me feel worse.”

“Then why don't you just tell them that?” Misha suggests, again in that warm, soft tone that reminds Jensen of a comfortable cushion to rest his head on.

“I don't wanna alienate them, they mean well, after all,” Jensen answers, lost in thought.

Misha sighs and stays quiet for a few seconds. “Then try to accept that it's alright to feel like that. Because it is. It's normal that you're irritated and easily angered at this stage. You're normal, Jensen. It's alright.”

Jensen huffs, but then takes a deep breath. Suddenly, he realizes the truth in Misha's words. “Thank you, Misha. I guess I really needed to hear that.”

“Anytime.” 

“So, I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

***  
  
The night before the funeral is by far the worst yet. Jensen finds himself lying awake at 4 am, the orange glow of the numbers on his alarm clock ticking by impossibly slow. If he could, Jensen would just skip forward in time, to some time after the funeral, when he's already done and gotten it over with. The image that keeps appearing in his mind, time and time again, of a crowd standing around the casket, of them standing in front of all their friends and family, reading Jeff's eulogy, makes Jensen want to curl into a ball and never leave his room again, ever.

It's almost 5 am when Jensen decides that enough is enough, grabs his pillow and leaves his bed.

Jared doesn't even flinch or look surprised when Jensen lifts the sheets to slip into bed beside him. Wordlessly, he pulls Jensen into his arms and holds on.

Jensen rests his head against Jared's shoulder and revels in the sound of his heart, beating strong and steady, and in his familiar smell and warmth.

No matter how much he wishes for another familiar smell, another set of arms wrapped around himself, another set of soft lips pressing against his neck, this is how it's going to be now.

Him and Jared.

And it's true, it could be worse. Jared loves Jensen with all his heart, and Jensen loves Jared more than he could ever put to words. So that's good.

But life could also be indefinitely better. If Jeff was still here.

Jensen knows he should be glad to still have Jared, but he can't bring himself to feel that way right now, no matter how selfish it seems to him.

“Can't sleep, huh?” Jared murmurs, a hot puff of breath against Jensen's scalp. “Me neither.”

They're staying silent for a long moment, just looking into each other's eyes in the half-darkness of the bedroom.

He's still trying to think of something to console Jared, when Jared speaks first, derailing Jensen's train of thought.

“I'm having a hard time right now thinking further than getting through tomorrow, and then another day, and then another,” Jared pauses, swallows heavily. “But we should... I mean someday, we should... we should be alright again.”

“Someday, yeah,” Jensen huffs.

“And we should focus on that day, you know. As soon as the funeral is over. We need to get back onto our feet.”

Jensen hums against Jared's shoulder in agreement.

Jared's voice, so intimately familiar with its low timbre and comforting warmth, puts Jensen at ease, lets him close his eyes and feel his tense muscles relax.

“Hey, Jay,” Jensen says, nudging Jared's neck with his nose. “Go to sleep,” he states flatly.

“If you say so,” Jared answers, a tiny bit amused.

Jensen feels the tiredness of his body catching up with his head, feels sleep tugging him under, lulling him into comfort and blissful unconsciousness.

And because he doesn't want to have any regrets if he never woke up again – because those are the kind of thoughts that haunt him lately – he whispers a “Love you,” into Jared's neck.

“Love you, too,” Jared answers, low and mostly asleep by now. “Wouldn't know what to do without you.”

Suddenly, Jensen's heart feels to big for his ribcage, threatening to burst through his chest with all the love for Jared that hits him like a punch to the gut.

“Me neither.”

***  
  
The funeral itself will be held after the service, but the wake with the open casket was the thing that Jensen really feared.

Under Misha's close supervision, they gathered in the huge room in the funeral home, with Jensen and Jared standing up front, accepting condolences.

The eulogy is Jensen's rock bottom.

It hits him fast and hard, and Jared takes over various times so Jensen can compose himself.

“We were lucky that we got all these years to spend with him,” Jensen finishes, right when tears are threatening to win the battle. Jensen doesn't care much at this point. “So thank you, Jeff. Rest in peace.”

“We'll see you on the other side,” Jared adds, so low that it's clearly only meant for Jensen's ears.

Jensen squeezes his hand.

After the ceremony and the funeral, they all head back to their house, and for a few, blissful hours, it’s full to the brim with visitors that take Jensen's mind off things. Things like the fact that he just said his goodbyes to his boyfriend of fourteen years.

But the visitors excuse themselves, one after the other, until Misha is the last one still there, sitting in the kitchen with a glass of water in his hands, waiting for Jared and Jensen to join him so they can talk about the further proceedings.

The hole in the ground, the abyss that had been threatening to swallow Jensen all day, all week, opens up then, pulls him down and under as Jensen breaks down. Fortunately, he's already in the living room, so he ends up sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa, choking on his tears.

“Jensen?” he hears Misha's panicked words from the kitchen.

Jensen doesn't see. After his legs gave out and folded in on themselves, he's too dizzy to open his eyes, his head is swirling and his heart is beating too fast.

“Jensen!”

He hears the voice, the one that's definitely Misha's, louder now, and a hand that comes down on his shoulder, shaking him.

Once again, his chest feels too tight, clasped in the fangs of that ugly monster that makes Jensen want to die inside, makes him want to shut everything and everyone out just so he doesn't have to  _feel_ anymore.

“Jared!” Misha yells towards the stairs, where Jared had retreated to change out of his suit. Then his voice becomes calmer again, as he holds onto Jensen's shoulder, grounding him. “Jensen, calm down, it's okay, it's gonna be okay--”

“No, it's not,” Jensen barely manages to muffle the shout into a fierce reply. “It's not gonna be! It's unfair, is what it is. This shouldn't have happened. Why did it, then? What did we do to deserve this?” It all bursts out of him, the flow of the words unstoppable once it starts. “What should we have done to prevent this?”

“You're angry,” Misha states the obvious, but when Jensen wants to yell at him again, he tightens his hold on Jensen's shoulder.

Jensen looks up, then, and although his vision is still blurry from the tears running down his face, wetting the sleeves of his suit jacket and slipping into his mouth, he can see the sorrow in Misha's eyes, the plain and utter sympathy. Something inside of him breaks at that, but Jensen can't put his finger on it.

With a sigh, Misha shifts from the way he's crouching next to Jensen to kneeling on the floor, his legs tucked under himself. Then he splays his hand out flat right beneath Jensen's neck, warm and comforting, the shape of it unfamiliar.

“It's normal to be angry. It's one of the early stages of dealing with grief, and it's okay that you're angry,” Misha explains. “So be angry. Shout all you want. And no, it's never fair when a loved one dies. But you can never change it, no matter how much you wish you could.”

“But why him? He was such a good guy. He helped out at the shelter and he was such a... if you'd known him, you'd understand, he was such a gentle and kind person and he just... he didn't deserve it.”

“No, he didn't,” Jared's voice interrupts them, and when Jensen looks up, he finds him walking across the living room to where they're sitting on the floor, and joins them by kneeling down on Jensen's other side.

The big hand that Jensen knows settles on his neck, and Misha's shifts downwards so they don't overlap. It's smaller than Jared's huge paws, fingers more delicate, the touch firm.

They have him.

The thought is utterly confusing to Jensen, but he allows himself to wallow in it for a moment or two.

“It's... my mind is going in circles,” Jensen explains. “All of this happened so fast, and I can't stop thinking about Jeff, and it all spins faster and faster, I feel like I'm losing my mind.”

“That's why you have to calm down,” Misha says, as silent and soothing as ever. “What if he could see you like that? If you believe that Jeff is up in heaven and watching over you, he can. And he wouldn't want this for you.”

“You didn't say anything,” Jared states as a simple matter of fact. His lips are pursed and his eyes are big and worried when he continues, “You just sucked it all up like a sponge, I'm not surprised it all came down like that. You gotta share this with me, man, so we can work through it together.”

“You know I'm not good at that stuff,” Jensen retorts.

Misha gives him a tiny jostle. “You don't need to be good at it. You just need to vent sometimes, or else it's gonna eat you up inside. And you can do that, right?”

Jensen huffs, but nods. “I guess.”

They're quiet for a minute, just sitting there, staring at their laps or at each other.

“You good?” Jared asks eventually.

“I don't know,” Jensen answers, honest and to the point. He's too tired to beat around the bush.

“You will be,” Misha encourages him, and by the way he locks eyes with Jared, it's clear that the 'you' was meant to include a second person, plural.

***  
  
The following week, both Jared and Jensen have to get back to work. They stop by Misha's office a couple times, for paperwork, for the headstone, and for some remaining bills.

He's always professional, he's always efficient, and more importantly, he doesn't mention the incident after the funeral at all.

All that's left to them is a house half-full of memories and memorabilia, and no idea of what to do with it.

“We do have to clean out the master bedroom some time, you know,” Jared reminds him over breakfast one Saturday. “We can't keep taking turns in our beds. They're too small, and your mattress is too soft. I keep getting strains in my back.”

“I know,” Jensen says and thinks of the headache-inducing pain in his neck that Jared's hard mattress gives him. “But I can't, not yet.”

“Don't you think it'll be better to get it over with as soon as possible?”

Jensen shrugs. “I don’t think I can go in there and not lose it, to be honest.”

Jared shoots him a worried look, the forkful of scrambled eggs and bacon hovering in mid-air halfway to his lips. “That's why I'm here.”

“I know,” Jensen swallows, stares down at his own plate that's still half-full. The eggs taste like stale paper to his taste buds, and the bacon is dripping with too much oil, at least for Jensen's current taste. “How about we get to it next week?”

“Yeah,” Jared agrees.

They don't do it the following week. Jared has so much work to catch up on that he can barely stay on his feet when he's home after fourteen hours at the office, and Jensen makes sure to work as many additional hours at the physical therapist's practice as he can get away with. All he knows is that he can't stay home alone without Jared. It'd break him.

They fall into bed beside each other each night, if they don't fall asleep on the couch in front of the news flickering over the screen. They talk about their day at work, about colleagues, about missed calls and stuff they need to do in the garden.

Jensen is very aware of where they're heading, but for now, he's okay with it. Not that he actually thinks they'll drift apart; they're Jared and Jensen, Jensen and Jared, they belong with each other. It's an admittedly very rough patch that they're going through, inevitably have to go through, but they'll make it. It's mourning and pain and stuff they need to deal with on their own terms. They'll be back to what they always were and always will be soon enough.

Or so Jensen tells himself.

He just wished that Jeff would be here, knocking their heads together and telling them to 'suck it up and start living your lives again.'

That's the point, though.

Living his life, getting through another day, is all Jensen is capable of these days.

***  
  
“We haven't had sex in three months,” Jared remarks one evening in May, when they've retreated to bed early, both of them exhausted from a long day at work.

“That long?” Jensen asks, honestly surprised. “I wasn't counting.”

“Well, since the day before Jeff's death. You do the math,” Jared answers, wrapping himself around the curve of Jensen's back, aligning their bodies to slot together like two pieces of a puzzle, kissing his neck.

Jensen stares down at the huge hand curled around his waist and stomach, long fingers splayed out on his abs that definitely need some work these days. He can't bring himself to do anything but get up – that's the biggest feat each day – go to work, go home, sleep. Kiss his partner goodnight before that, of course, but that's about it.

“You wanna?” he asks Jared, without turning around to look at him. It comes out flat, disinterested.

“Not today,” Jared answers and buries his nose in the hair at the back of Jensen's head. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Okay,” Jensen nods against the pillow, his stubble catching at the fabric. “Good night, Jared.”

“Night, Jensen. Sleep tight.”

It's a soft murmur, barely a whisper tickling the skin of Jensen's scalp, and then Jensen closes his eyes.

It's okay. It's normal, even, to lose one's libido after the death of a loved one. Jensen read about it online.

It's also making him feel guilty, which he guesses is also normal.

***  
  
“Hey, Jensen!” Genevieve calls in from the reception area of Jensen's workplace, cheery and as friendly as ever. “Come here and tell me what you want for lunch. We're ordering Chinese.”

“Nothing,” Jensen sighs.

That, of course, makes his co-worker poke her head into the treatment room which he's currently cleaning up. “You sure? You could at least eat some spring rolls or whatever.”

“No, thank you. I'm not hungry.”

Genevieve's eyebrows shoot up high on her forehead, but she doesn't comment further.

However, when the order arrives, there's some leftover rice and some red salmon curry, Jensen's favorite, among the other food containers. Jensen even eats it, his appetite trickling in some time after the third spoonful. He even steals a fried pineapple slice from Tom's plate, who pretends to scold him for it, but in the end shoves the container with one slice left over towards Jensen.

Tom only smiles with a nod towards the Styrofoam container. 'Take it,' his eyes say.

Jensen sighs, too tired to put up a fight.

Danni, their boss, refuses his money when Jensen tries to pay her for it afterwards.

“My treat, Jensen. Just, take better care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jensen nods, not caring one bit about himself if he's honest.

And that's the other thing.

All the damn  _pity_ .

Jensen can't  _stand_ it.

***  
  
It's a week later, when they're in the bathroom, getting ready for bed, that Jared steps up behind Jensen and wraps his arms around him. He leans down to trail kisses down Jensen's neck, rolls his hips against the swell of Jensen's ass, lets him feel the bulge in his boxers.

Jensen freezes, just for a moment, but it's enough for Jared to retreat with an almost inaudible sigh.

“I'll wait for you in bed,” Jared says, pretending that nothing had happened.

“Yeah,” Jensen nods, feeling breathless.

It throws him off and it confuses him.

The mess of feelings that are wrestling for the upper hand within him are driving him insane. There's the side of him that only needs to smell Jared, to be close to him, to feel him, warm and gentle against his skin, the side that only needs to know that Jared wants him to be content.

Then of course, there's the other side. He still has needs, sexual desires, even though they are quite subdued these days. He still wants Jared.

However, there's the fact that they haven't had sex in months.

Hell, even while Jeff was still alive, they only ever had sex alone exactly twice, when Jeff was away for the weekend and they just couldn't go two days without sex.

That thought makes Jensen huff with amusement.

And back then, all they talked about during, before and after fucking each other was how much better it would be if Jeff were here and what they'd do to him once he got back.

This is completely unknown territory for both of them.

Still, Jensen is only human, and he wants this. He realizes, on an objective level, that he needs to get used to it, and that he has to start somewhere. Somewhere, somehow, someday might as well be today.

So Jensen takes a deep breath and leaves the bathroom, shuts off the lights and crawls into Jared's bed beside him. Jared turns around once he's there, wraps his arms around Jensen's waist, not pulling or pressuring, just holding him nice and easy. It's good like this, it is, however--

For a moment, Jensen has to will himself to focus and allow whatever might happen now, simply because it's between the two of them and he trusts Jared,  _he still wants Jared._

It's not an abstract, rational thought, either. It's physical and deeply rooted in who he is. Jared is so attractive and so hot, and as it has always been, Jensen wants him with every fiber of his being.

“Jay,” he breathes out, reaching out to stroke his thumb over Jared's cheek. It's a silent explanation, a silent question. They know each other too long to not understand it.

Jared smiles, before he asks, “You okay?” and runs his left hand up his spine, cradles his neck with it, comforting, considerate as always.

Jensen nods and shifts closer, slips his right leg between Jared's, fits himself completely into the curve of Jared's body when Jared throws his own leg over Jensen's hip, giving him space to move.

The bulge is still there, pressing against Jensen's thigh, and Jared moans under his breath when Jensen rubs over it. He knows that kind of moan, knows he has Jared right where he wants him to be.

With an easy, familiar move of his hand, Jensen pulls both their boxers down, slides their cocks together with practiced motion. He's only half-hard, but as soon as he wraps his hand around them both, feels the velvety smooth hardness of Jared's dick against his, he feels his blood rush through his veins, down to where it matters.

Jensen starts to pump them slowly, stroking them with his right hand, adding a twist at the tip because he knows how Jared gets off on that. Sure enough, Jared groans and seals his lips over Jensen's, making aborted little thrusts into Jensen's hand, gasps into his mouth on occasion.

It's hot, it's what Jensen liked about him from the very first day – how receptive and sensitive Jared is, how much he feels and manages to express with as little as a sigh, how he writhes in Jensen's arms, tiny whimpers escaping him. It's exhilarating.

Jensen allows himself to get caught up in the stream and just go along with it, lets himself get swept away by Jared's presence, his patience and passion, by the love shining in his eyes.

Jared comes before him, and he doesn't need to warn Jensen in filthy words. Jensen knows how Jared sounds when he comes. The short breaths, the shaking under his hands, the focused look in his eyes, right before he breaks down and buries his head in Jensen's neck.

“Jen,” Jared moans afterwards, the blissed-out expression on his face looking as good as ever. “Oh, you--” Jared states surprised and obviously realizing that Jensen hasn't come with him. Then he slips his hand between them and wraps his long fingers around Jensen's dick from the other side, stroking him with firm, sure strokes.

Jensen gasps, and doesn't try to hold anything back any more.

The first orgasm after multiple months of an involuntary dry-streak is overwhelming and entirely surprising for a simple hand-job, but when he's done shouting out his pleasure and curling in on himself, Jensen looks over at Jared.

“Thank you,” he says, grabbing Jared's hand. Then, after quite some moments of catching his breath, “Love you.”

Jared chuckles. “You too.”

***  
  
Over the course of the following months, and sooner than Jensen feared, they settle back into a familiar routine.

Jensen can't sleep in any longer, since he's in charge of breakfast now, while Jared is still out running in the morning. He refuses to do the eggs sunny side up, because that's how Jeff used to make them; scrambled eggs it is, from here on out. As far as Jensen is concerned, an egg is an egg is an egg, and the one day Jared demanded his sunny side up and almost cried over his breakfast plate subsequently was an example neither of them needed a repeat performance of.

Jeff's mug, the white one that once had some kind of witty, coffee-related sentence printed on its side before it was put through the dishwasher one too many times, had wandered into the box of personal items belonging to Jeff. They didn't look into it, just picked up stuff around the house when they noticed it and dumped it in the box that lived in the corner of the master bedroom.

They started going to work together in Jensen's car. The old, beat-up Volkswagen that Jeff left them had been sold weeks ago, money they dearly needed for the funeral anyway. Dying is pricey, after all.

When Jensen drops Jared off at the his workplace, an engineering company, he kisses him on his lips, just a harmless little peck, and wishes him a good day.

Jared takes the bus home after work and Jensen is home long after him, anyway, especially when an appointment runs late. It only means that Jared is the one in charge of preparing dinner. Afterwards, they talk about their day, watch some TV, and after a few weeks of trial-and-error-ing their way back to having an active sex life, there's also sex. Frequent, if not nearly as often as before. It's different, now. More bland, if Jensen were forced to say so. Not that he ever would.

It's just – the thrill of someone else watching, of giving husky orders and encouragements, of guiding them, is missing.

Jensen one day catches himself at the thought that while Jeff tore a huge hole into their life when he died, they sewed it shut to some extent. It's not like they don't reminiscence, not at all. There are still gaps in the yarn they used to stuff the hole, and it's still painful, but not unbearable to look back, to sneak a glance at what had been. It had been good times, after all.

And he's good.

They will be okay, eventually. One day. Just like Misha said.

That's what Jensen tells himself, day after day.

And it's true. Mostly.

He's honestly, truly, absolutely good with where they are. Five months after Jeff died, things are looking up. Jared can laugh again, and goddamn, Jensen has missed that laughter that could shake the entire house with how powerful it was.

However, it doesn't happen nearly as often as Jensen would like it to.

Jared seems depressed, melancholic, subdued, even now, even though he laughs again. It's more subtle now, he hides his true feelings under his usual smile. However, Jensen knows him better than that, and mostly, he knows exactly how Jared feels. So he's worried, really worried about Jared, until – after probably the fifth time he asked that day – Jared explodes.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jensen,” he snaps. “I said I'm good, so you don't need to question my sanity every two seconds!”

“Well, excuse me for worrying about you!” Jensen shouts back, with the dirty plates from dinner still in his hands.

“I'm telling you, you don't need to!” Jared glares and throws the used cutlery in the dishwasher. “So stop it. Please.”

Jensen huffs. “Jay, c'mon. You're not fooling anybody.”

Jared spins around, his expression furious. “First,” he ticks off with his fingers, “I know. Second, so what, and third, look who's talking. I'm just trying to get better, Jensen. I'm not pretending like nothing happened, but I'm trying to get over it.”

“So am I,” Jensen splutters, taken by surprise. 

“Maybe, but honestly, it doesn't seem that way to me,” Jared sighs. “You often look like you're just wallowing in the grief and remembering better times, like it's--” he cuts himself off, avoids Jensen's eyes.

“Like what?” Jensen prompts, frowning at him.

“Like, I don't know how to say it without it sounding more hurtful than I intend it to.”

“Just tell me. I don't mind.”

Jared takes a deep breath. “Then let me just say that I loved Jeff, too, alright? And I love you, and I fell in love with you two for a reason. I know that he was everything to you. But seeing you like this, now, it almost seems to me like this, what we have, is worth less than what you had with Jeff. I know you've--”

“Jared, that's not true and you know it,” Jensen intercepts, because he can't let that statement get between them.

Jared finally looks at him again, tears shimmering in the corners of his slanted, beautiful eyes. “I try to tell myself that I know, Jensen, but I can't help but wonder. I mean, you’ve been spending more time at work, recently, as if you're avoiding coming home--”

“Now you're just interpreting things incorrectly,” Jensen shakes his head, puts the plates aside and crosses his arms in front of his chest. It's not true. Well, not entirely.

“I'm sorry, but then what? What am I supposed to believe?” Jared asks, desperation in his voice as he slumps against the counter of the kitchen beside Jensen.

“I--” Jensen cuts himself off, unsure of how to answer.

“I know you guys got together before me,” Jared states, quickly. “You two were happy without me for a long time, you've _worked_ without me. But you and I, we never got that chance. And now that we have it, of course it's not the same, but...” he trails off, bites his lip as he stares into space.

Jensen closes his eyes and sighs, then allows himself to slide down the kitchen cabinet until his ass hits the floor.

Wordlessly, Jared follows him, and they end up sitting there in silence, on the floor of the kitchen, for a long time.

“I love you,” Jensen says with emphasis, interrupting the quiet. “Never doubt that.”

“I love you, too,” Jared answers, sincerity shining in his eyes when he looks over. “And I never doubted it. But I guess we're at the point where we need to figure out how to live without him. How to live together, as the two of us. Because this – what's been going on for the past months, I can't live like that. I just can't, Jensen, I'm sorry.”

“I thought we were getting better,” Jensen sighs and hides his face in his hands, rubbing the heels of his hand over his tired eyes, then hissing when he notices the soap still clinging to his skin. “I thought we were on our way to getting over it.”

“No,” Jared replies, plain and simple. “We were pretending.”

“But we were trying, and that's what matters, right?”

“No.”

Jensen shrugs. “Then what?” he prompts, dropping his hands to find Jared looking at him with a deeply worried expression, eyebrows drawn tight, a crease between them, his lips flat and pressed together.

“You gotta talk to me, man. You always sit, like, in the living room when we're watching some game, and you stare into space instead of at the TV, and I know, I just know, what you're thinking about. You're thinking about Jeff, and what he'd say, and what he'd do, and how you remember that one time where he did god-knows-what, but you're not sharing, you're hiding it and you think it’s making it better. No, it isn't, Jensen,” Jared rants, passionate and agitated. “I hope you know what I mean.”

Jensen tilts his head to the right, away from Jared, and avoids his look. “I know what you mean, but I didn't want to bring the atmosphere down with comments like that.”

“Jen, it's been almost six months. We both know what happened. We know he's no longer with us. But we should never forget or gloss over him or what he meant to us, to our lives, so let's just... don't. We can do that, right?”

Jensen nods.

“Good. And I also believe we can do that thing where we go back to being a real couple. Let's go out some time, have dinner or go see a movie, something classic, you know? I'd love to,” Jared reaches over, then, to lay his hand on Jensen's thigh, a light squeeze.

“Yeah, okay,” Jensen agrees.

“And let's use that occasion to remember who we are to each other and not think about the notion that we can't be anything without Jeff,” Jared states.

“Okay,” Jensen intones, cradling Jared's cheek and stroking his thumb over his cheekbone.

Jared has a point, and it's not like Jensen doesn't see it. But it's complicated, and he has no idea where to begin. The smile Jared shoots him, then, all open and hopeful, is all he needs for now.

It's not like they just had a fight or a discussion about whether or not to stay with each other. That's a given. If anything, it makes Jensen feel more confident about where they stand with each other.

So he returns the smile, then pulls Jared in by the back of his neck and kisses him, slow and gentle, savoring the experience, trailing his lips over Jared's slightly chapped ones. Jared wraps his arm around his shoulders and with that, the world is a bit more back to like it should be.

However, they've still got a long way to go. Jensen dares to acknowledge that now.

***  
  
If fate is a thing that actually exists in this world, then Jensen has never believed in it and never had any reason to. Sure, he sometimes finds himself thinking that it had to have been fate that had him and Jeff meet each other back in the day, and that brought Jared to them.

So to have Jeff taken away from them like that – so abruptly, so quickly, so uncalled for – only furthered his disbelief in fate. If fate existed, then fate was a bitch.

It's not fate, it's coincidence.

That's his point and he'd defend it to anyone who'd argue with him.

Jensen never believed in things happening for a reason; Jeff's death is the best example for that.

Nowadays, he's convinced that bad things happen to good people.

He tried to explain this to Jared one evening, over a Cowboys game of all things, and Jared just looked at him, his eyes sad and his posture fallen in on itself. “Don't they always,” he sighed. “Bad things happening to good people, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Jensen agreed and leaned closer, into the curve of Jared's arm curling around his shoulders.

Jensen felt himself even more vindicated when his eyes fell on the framed picture beside the TV, of Jared, Jeff and him in Berlin, some two years ago.

***  
  
It's a day like any other.

Jensen works his way through his patients – the kid who suffered multiple bone fractures because of a motorcycle accident, the nice old grandpa with the replaced hip, the ex-pro baseball player with the busted knee, all of them his current regulars – until the day is over. His job is one of the things that keeps him sane these days, keeps him in the real world, keeps him grounded. So Jensen puts on his best smile, pretends to be his usual, perfectly faked friendly safe, and sometimes, he even forgets his personal life while showing exercises to one of his patients. As a physical therapist, he's able to help people, and that's what mattered when he chose this line of work, and it still matters now.

“Your last one for today,” Osric says, that one sunny afternoon in late July, shortly after Jared's birthday, and hands him a patient file.

“I thought I was done for today?” Jensen asks, surprised, as he takes the file and opens it, instinctively focusing in on the diagnosis. Broken hip and tailbone, posterior cruciate ligament rupture, severe concussion after a camber during a bike ride. As he does whenever he sees these kind of diagnoses, Jensen flinches inwardly. Just, _ouch_.

“Came in last minute, but his hospital put in a good word to start his treatment immediately,” Osric explains with a shrug. “And since Sommers is done with his treatment as of last week...”

“I had a spot open, I know,” Jensen nods. “I know. It's not like I mind, I was just surprised, is all.”

“Sure thing. Shall I?” Osric gestures towards the waiting area.

Jensen raises an eyebrow, more to himself, as he skims the progress of rehabilitation so far. “Please.”

He takes note of the few important data points he'll need – 40 years old, male, good health condition, hobby athlete, no other diseases, under constant medical supervision, donates blood every couple months.

The name is the last thing Jensen looks at, right when he hears the clicking of crutches in front of his treatment room, followed by the subsequent trademark sound of his door opening.

_Collins, Misha_

Jensen knows that he'd never come across a name like that twice, not that out of context.

So when he looks up, he finds the exact same blue eyes he expected staring at him in bewilderment and wonder. Misha is just short of gaping at him, his lips slightly parted, his eyes wide.

“Welcome, Mr. Collins,” Jensen smiles at him, all business-like, but having a hard time containing his smile at Misha's downright adorable expression, “Please take a seat so we can discuss your treatment schedule.”

Misha blinks. “Jensen?”

There's only so much Jensen can take, so he breaks and grins at Misha. “So we meet again.”

Misha huffs, amused, and shakes his head. “How have you been?”

Jensen shrugs. “I'm okay.”

“That's good to hear. How's Jared?” Misha asks as he sits down in the chair opposite Jensen's desk.

“He's doing fine, thanks for asking,” Jensen answers, plain and simple, before he changes the subject. “So I hear you kissed the street like the pope at forty-four miles an hour? How did that happen?”

Misha winces, searches for something to say for a moment, long enough for Jensen to feel like an absolute jerk.

“Hey, man, sorry, that came out wrong. I didn't mean to--”

“No, it's okay,” Misha interrupts him, one edge of his lips twitching upwards into a lopsided smile. “Fun story, actually. My bicycle fork broke, which leaves you about point two seconds to react, so, you really don't know what's happening until you’ve already vaulted over the handlebar and faceplanted on the street.”

“Ouch,” Jensen frowns.

“Yeah, the doctors said I was actually lucky to have worn a helmet, or else I could've broken my spine or cracked my skull altogether, which, you know, doesn't end so well usually,” Misha adds with a sarcastic undertone.

“Well, lucky or not, you got a knee and a hip we need to focus on fixing,” Jensen nods, more to himself, then looks up to find Misha watching him expectantly. “Would you please lie down on the treatment couch for me?”

Misha hobbles over, and Jensen takes the time to explain the exercises for his knee and hip to him, demonstrating and supporting each body part as he goes along. As per usual, it's all in close proximity – Jensen has his hand around Misha's ankle more or less for the whole time. It's not awkward, at least not more so than it is with other patients, and Misha manages to crack a joke or two to lighten the mood.

After an hour, they're done, and Misha moans when he straightens and gets to his feet.

“It'll get better,” Jensen smiles at him and hands him his crutches. 

Misha accepts them with a grateful nod, and Jensen can't help but stare after him as he takes his leave with a warm smile, a short wave and a “I'll see you on Thursday.”

Jensen feels a warm tingle in the pit of his stomach, like the first spark of a fire, like a single star visible on the night sky before the moon appears and gives way to the rest of the stars. He's not stupid, nor does he try to ignore it.

He likes Misha, possibly more than he should.

It's the simple fact that Misha looks at him like none of his other acquaintances, patients, or friends – or hell, his own boyfriend – does these days. There's no pity in his eyes, no attempt to walk on eggshells around him. Misha is no one but who he is towards Jensen, genuine, honest. It's so refreshing that Jensen's treacherous body makes him want to believe that Misha is special.

Which he isn't, they just ran into each other by accident. It's coincidence.

***  
  


Jensen is still lost in thought when he returns home to find Jared at the stove, shirtless with an apron tied around his middle.

“Hey, I'm home,” he greets Jared with a grin, wraps an arm around him and toys with the knot at the small of Jared's back.

“Hey,” Jared turns towards him and kisses him hello. “How was your day?”

“Good, good, everything's alright,” Jensen heads over to the fridge and grabs two beers, opening them and handing one to Jared. “Got a new patient today.”

Jared raises an eyebrow and him and smirks. “You get new patients all the time. Anyone special?”

With a hum, Jensen shrugs and looks at the floor. “Misha.”

“From the funeral home?” Jared asks, although it's pretty clear he already knows who Jensen is talking about.

“That one. He got into a bike accident and now he has problems with his hip and knee,” Jensen explains, trying to sound casual as he sips his beer.

“I see,” Jared answers. “Well, you always meet twice in life, right? It's kinda funny.”

“Kinda, yeah,” Jensen snorts.

Jared shoots him a worried look, feeling exactly what's going on with Jensen. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, he's alright. A bit weird, good sense of humor. We get along,” Jensen avoids the question.

“Not what I meant and you know it,” Jared scolds him playfully, pointing the stirring spoon at him.

With an amused sigh, Jensen turns towards him and pulls him into another kiss. “I'm good,” he repeats to reassure Jared. “Honestly.”

“Okay,” Jared smirks, then captures Jensen's lips with his, nipping at his bottom lip until Jensen relaxes in his arms. When the chili in the pot starts to bubble and sizzle, Jared breaks the kiss to stir it a couple times.

“Smells good,” Jensen comments, his fingers once again entangled in the strap of the apron.

Jared's eyes are twinkling when he reaches for a clean spoon, heaps some of the chili onto it and holds it towards Jensen to taste. “Do you think it needs some more kick?”

Jensen blows on the steaming contents of the spoon and carefully tastes it. He still manages to burn his tongue and splutters. Despite its temperature, the chili is just this side of too spicy, just the way Jensen loves it, but damn, it's hot. Jensen gasps for air.

Jared cackles.

“It's delicious,” Jensen eventually manages to cough. “Perfect.”

“Thank you,” Jared grins, lips stretched wide. “It still needs to cook for another thirty minutes or so, then we can dig in.”

“Awesome,” Jensen eyes him, then, and finally remembers what he's been meaning to say since he stepped into the kitchen. “By the way, you’re not trying to seduce me with the hot househusband schtick, are you? What happened to your shirt? Not that the hot househusband schtick doesn't work, for the record.”

Jared throws his head back and laughs, a full, unabashed laugh, the one that Jensen fell in love with all those years ago. He can't help but grin in response, feeling warm fondness curl up in his stomach, slowly spreading through his veins.

“Actually,” Jared begins, smirking at him, “I spilled tomato juice on my shirt, but I was too lazy to fetch myself a clean one. I'm glad you like it, though.”

“Oh, I like it a lot,” Jensen admits, stepping behind Jared so he can stare at the defined muscles of his back, the elegant slope of his spine. He runs his fingers up the vertebrae, traces the strings of muscle, the valleys and bulges where Jared tenses up at his touch. 

It's always been a major turn-on for Jensen. Jared's back, that is. It was the reason why they picked Jared back at that club, to be exact. Jensen can still hear himself say, 'How about the kid over there? I'm wondering what he'd look like on all fours with your dick buried inside of him,' and he can still remember Jeff's pearly, rough laughter, right before Jeff walked over, placed one hand between Jared's shoulder blades, and whispered something into his ear that had Jared blushing up to the tips of his ears. Really, it was adorable.

Now, eight years later, Jensen can still remember what he saw, back then.

With his hands running up the wide expanse of Jared's back, fingers spread out, caressing each available square inch of tan skin, Jensen leans up to kiss the back of Jared's neck.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Ackles?” Jared teases, looking over his shoulder with a grin.

“Maybe,” Jensen smiles against Jared's warm skin and slips his hands under the apron and around him. It's easy to reach for his belt buckle and open it, a practiced and perfected move just like snapping the button open and pulling down Jared's zipper.

Jared moans. “I still need to keep an eye on the chili,” he protests.

“Oh, don't mind me,” Jensen chuckles, trails his lips from Jared's earlobe down the curve of his neck and bare shoulder. “I'm just doing my thing here, you focus on the cooking.” He nibbles at the skin of Jared's shoulder, barely grazing it with his teeth as he moves down, sinking to his knees. Taking down Jared's jeans at the same time is easy enough, as is palming his ass while he does it. Above him, Jared sighs, angling his hips sideways so Jensen can shift around and to his front, sticking his head under the apron.

Jared's boxers are already sporting an obvious wet patch where his cock is leaking pre-come, so Jensen moves in to lick over the moist cotton, his senses overwhelmed by Jared's taste and smell, blood rushing down to his own dick at the sensation of Jared's hand coming down to the back of his head, holding him in place. Jensen gasps and slips his fingers under the waistband of Jared's boxers, pulling them down under Jared's balls and swallowing his cock straight down.

With a loud groan, Jared tightens his grip, not quite managing to get a good hold of Jensen's head because of the apron between them, but enough to make Jensen moan around his cock. Jensen always enjoys blowing Jared, he's so responsive and eager when it comes to receiving head. Jeff and Jensen had a running competition going on how quick they could make Jared come with just blowing him, and Jeff regularly won – Jensen reasoned that it was because Jeff rarely opted for oral sex.

Jeff had been something else entirely in bed. He'd loved to give them orders, sit back and enjoy with a hand around his dick, the other buried in Jared's or Jensen's hair as one of them fucked the other. He liked to say that 'you youngsters get it out of your system first, then we'll pick up from there'. Sloppy seconds were never sloppy seconds, not for Jeff. He thoroughly enjoyed letting Jared fuck Jensen within an inch of his orgasm, before pulling him into his lap after Jared had already come and finishing Jensen off, in every sense of the word. Jensen can't remember how often he ended up exhausted,  _wrecked_ in Jeff's lap, completely satisfied and happy.

Jared has always been a pliant one. Not that he didn't take the initiative from time to time, but he mostly went along with his partners, trusted them to do all the things he wanted and didn't need to ask for.

When Jeff gave oral, it was always a rare pleasure. He was stellar at it, too, absolutely gorgeous to look at, and the way his beard rasped over Jensen's inner thigh is, to this day, one of the memories that can get him hard within seconds. Jensen had had a hard time understanding why he didn't do it more often, since he did very obviously get off on it.

But now that he's more or less blindfolded, in the dark under Jared's apron, Jensen gets it. Jeff had liked to watch, was very much a visual type of guy. Jensen himself is more about feeling, tasting, smelling, and this right here is his pleasure zone. He likes to feel Jared like this, zeroing in on his pleasure alone, and when Jared's hand starts to push, when he starts fucking his mouth, Jensen lets him.

After barely a few thrusts, Jared groans low in his throat and comes down Jensen's throat. The smell, the taste of it, is so familiar, so addictive that Jensen knows he could come just from this. Well, if he were a few years younger.

As it is, he swallows before he gets back to his feet.

Jared is a sweaty mess, leaning slumped against the kitchen counter, the spoon long forgotten where it drips tomato juice and chili sauce onto the floor.

“Jen,” he gasps, then takes a lungful of air before moving closer, wrapping his arms around Jensen and lifting him up onto the kitchen counter. Jared doesn't even give him the time to catch his breath before he undoes his pants and leans down to return the favor. He doesn't take his time, either, sucks Jensen hard and fast until he's convinced that he just had his brain sucked out through his dick.

The chili turns out perfect, especially with the salty-sweet flavor of Jared's come still on the back of Jensen's tongue. He tangles his feet with Jared's under the table and grins at him.

It feels like they're, at least in some ways, back to normal.

If Jeff were still here, he'd give them knowing looks that promised more, later. Jensen smiles at the thought, and Jared mirrors it.


	3. ... what happens when you make other plans

Misha's treatment is supposed to last six weeks, with two sessions each week.

So, for the following five weeks, Tuesday and Thursday, Jensen gets exposed to what he likes to call the full Collins charm. Not in the sense of flirting, but in the sense of casual conversations and the running commentary Misha keeps up more or less throughout the entirety of their appointments.

Jensen doesn't mind, not when he gets to relay ridiculous travel stories 'of that one time in Tibet', among other horrendous atrocities that Misha admits to having committed in his life, to Jared two times a week. It has the very appreciated side effect of seeing Jared laugh again on a regular basis – and Jared had always enjoyed his patient stories. Usually, they were anonymous, though.

That they both happen to know exactly who Jensen is talking about doesn't change anything about the entertainment value.

“Say hi to him from me,” Jared tells him, one Wednesday evening, and Jensen does so the following Thursday.

“Thanks,” Misha grins. “Right back at him. How is he?”

“Good,” Jensen answers immediately, his standard response whenever someone asks them how they're doing without Jeff. He catches himself at the thought and flinches. “Well, better. It's just--” Jensen sighs and shrugs it off. “Never mind.”

“No, please, tell me,” Misha sounds genuine, as much as the exercise Jensen assists him with right now allows him to. “Distract me from the pain in my back, please.”

Jensen hides his smile by turning away to focus on the bend of Misha's legs. “Fine, but don't complain about my sob story. I gotta say the hardest part is giving up routines, you know? Like, Jeff used to make breakfast while Jared went for a run, and I got to sleep in until either of them woke me up. Now, I'm in charge of cooking in the morning, and that made getting up for a while really, really discouraging.”

“Because you can't cook?” Misha teases, probably to lift the mood. It doesn't help much, not with the kind of headspace Jensen has talked himself into.

“No, I actually am quite able to cook, believe it or not,” Jensen huffs out a bitter laugh. “I just wanted to stay in bed to pretend that everything was alright and that Jeff would come wake me any second now.”

The up and down motion of Misha's Adam's apple draws Jensen's attention, but he doesn't allow himself to linger on it and finishes the set of exercises.

“I see,” Misha says, while Jensen arranges the next stretching exercise, one that Misha already knows and can handle on his own, with Jensen only correcting his posture every now and then.

So Jensen stays close by, ready to move and support Misha if he needs him, or to lay a hand onto the small of his back, to remind him to sit upright.

“But you stopped holing up in bed, didn't you?” Misha prompts, watching Jensen over his shoulder, then winces with discomfort.

“Yeah, because someone had to cook breakfast in the end. Keep your arm at a ninety degree angle. Careful.”

“And that's the key, you know, and you'll get there. Acceptance is the last step of the five stages of grief, and the hardest to achieve, but it's actually what everybody means by 'it's gonna be alright',” Misha shrugs and smiles to placate Jensen. In his defense, it does work.

“Yeah, well, I read up on that, too,” Jensen admits, quiet. “And I'm still very much not there, even six months later.”

“Give it time and be patient. You'll see.”

“Thank you,” Jensen replies with emphasis, meaning it. “Also, how did we just get there? I thought I was the therapist and you're the patient.”

Misha laughs, this time effectively brightening the atmosphere and sending Jensen into a fit of giggles, too.

***  
  
“You talk about him a lot,” Jared says, three weeks later, when they're sitting on the couch watching Monday Night Football.

Okay, so maybe Jensen had gone a bit overboard with the Misha stories, he can give Jared that. But sue him, he is looking forward to tomorrow. Because tomorrow is Tuesday. And Tuesday means an appointment with Misha. Tuesday means an hour of his job that he'll spend chatting, laughing and having fun while still getting to help people. It's everything he's always wanted out of his job and then some.

“Well,” Jensen shrugs, at a loss for words for a second. Jared not only caught him with his hand in the cookie jar, but also without a plausible excuse. 

And that right there, that thought, should be enough to force Jensen to face it. One doesn't need excuses for things one doesn't need to hide.

“Jensen,” Jared sighs, turning around to face him and placing a hand on Jensen's knee, squeezing softly. He looks sincere, a bit nervous, but he also smiles. “It's alright. I'd just really like to know if there's anything I should know, here.”

On impulse, Jensen shakes his head. “There's nothing, honestly. I'd have told you, and you know that.”

Jensen waits for Jared's guilty nod before he continues.

“I like him, that's true. He's the highlight of my Tuesday and Thursday, if I'm being honest. And yeah, he's hot, but that doesn't mean that I'd ever act on that without discussing the situation with you first,” Jensen answers, his voice steady and firm, never breaking eye contact with Jared.

Jared bites his bottom lip, nibbling at it, pulling tiny pieces of skin off with his teeth.

“What's up?” Jensen asks, covering Jared's hand on his knee with his own, curls his fingers around Jared's wrist.

“I'm just wondering,” Jared tilts his head and looks down at their hands together, and Jensen feels his fingertips carefully running over his pulse point. Jensen doesn't push him, gives him all the time he needs to think of how to continue that sentence. Eventually, Jared starts to mumble. “What if we need someone else again? What if just the two of us isn't enough?”

Jensen splutters, interrupting Jared. “Jare, we love each other. We are – and have always been – a dream team together. How should we not be able to handle life as an ordinary gay couple?”

“Because we used to be an 'un-ordinary' gay threesome for too long,” Jared looks up at him, then, to lock eyes with him. “Because we're used to someone in our middle calming the waves.”

“C'mon, we're not that bad,” Jensen grimaces.

“No, it's not that,” Jared clarifies on the spot. “It's so far from that, it's... how do I explain this... It's just a matter of habit. We've been in this for eight years. You just don't wipe that from your memory.”

For a while, Jensen just stares at his genuine, open smile and mulls it over. It's not hard to get Jared's point, however vague it is. “I know,” Jensen admits in the end. “But that doesn't mean that we can't learn how to break that habit and start a new one. We don't need to find ourselves a boyfriend right now, what with our whole situation at all. We're in no shape to be dating or wooing anybody.”

This time, it's Jared who nods. “Yeah, I think so, too. Like I said, I was just wondering.”

“Wondering about my intentions towards Misha,” Jensen states. “Fair enough.”

Jared perks up, a little red in the face as he scratches the back of his neck. “So, what are they, then? Your intentions towards him, I mean. Obviously.”

Jensen stares at him despite the fact that Jared avoids his gaze once again. “I don't have any. He's a nice patient I enjoy working with. At work. The work where I earn my money, you know. Where I'm paid for helping patients.”

“Really?” Jared asks, in that kind of skeptical voice that Jensen knows means Jared caught onto him. Not an accusation of a lie – the accusation that he's not quite telling the truth.

“Like I said, he's hot. That's nothing I need to be concerned about. And we get along great, and okay, yes, I have been thinking about this. Our arrangement and where he could have a place here. But that was very theoretical and also – like I said – we're in no shape to be dating. Thinking about Jeff is still--” Jensen breaks off mid-sentence, turning his eyes towards the ceiling to hide their wet glance. “Still a punch to the gut, you know. No one will ever be able to replace him, and I don't want to do that, ever.”

Jared nods, a hard edge appearing in his otherwise gentle eyes. “No, never.”

“So, we might like each other, but the matter of fact stands – Misha's treatment ends in two weeks. It's been a lucky coincidence – well, unlucky in his case - that I met him again at all. He'll get out of physiotherapy and I'll be a bit disappointed for 1.4 weeks and then everything will be back to normal. Nothing but a passing crush.”

They've had these before. On co-workers, bosses, friends. Casual little adorable affinities towards certain people that ticked very much like them. Usually, between the three of them, the two unaffected ones would notice, talk it out, reassure each other that they had nothing to fear and that it was actually cute as fuck to be flipping out over the new guy working in the IT department – okay, so Jared had been the most common offender of this particular law.

Jeff and Jensen never minded.

This, though, this is different. Jensen feels it, deep in his bones, a strange tension, ready to snap. However, Jensen always could admit to harboring some man-crushes here or there, but he has never, ever been able to picture someone else in their threesome. This relationship, this is still Jeff, Jared and him, and he loves - loved - both of his partners. He doesn't want to erase Jeff's presence or his memory.

“And if it was different?” Jared prompts, almost too quiet to pick up on.

“What do you mean?” Jensen frowns.

“What if you met him again, a third time, sometime later. Do I need to worry then? Would you want to bring him into our relationship?” Jared lifts his chin defiantly.

“No. Not without being sure that you're feeling the same,” Jensen answers, short and poignant. “I'd never ambush you like that.”

“Okay,” Jared answers after a moment of hesitation.

“So, are we good?”

“Yeah,” Jared mumbles, “Yeah. It's way too early to think about all of this, anyway. I'm glad I can spend all this time with you, Jen. I'd like to enjoy that for now.”

Jensen mutters a silent 'I love you' against his mouth as he kisses Jared.

Jared answers by pulling Jensen off the couch and into the bedroom, managing to remind him just how much fun sex between two people can be.

***  
  
Despite his resolution to keep it cool and not act weird towards Misha, Jensen can't help but feel giddy when late afternoon rolls around. By the time the door opens one last time for his last patient of the day, Jensen has a swarm of butterflies in his stomach. It's so strange, it's been so long since this last happened, and besides – he's neither in love nor does his heart belong to anyone but Jared. And there's a Jeff-sized hole in it, too, one that's not possible to fill.

So when Misha steps into his office and grins at him, Jensen clears his throat and tries to sound nonchalant when he says, “Hey, Misha, how are you doing?”

Misha's grin only becomes wider as he comes to a stand in front of Jensen's desk. “Jensen, hi. I'm getting better each day, thanks to you and the exercises.”

“That's good to hear,” Jensen nods and steps around the desk he was working at, only to find himself standing just that tad bit too close to Misha without fully invading his personal space. However, it's enough to smell his aftershave and see him up close, to see the spark in his clear blue eyes. It's enough to make Jensen nervous.

So he takes a step back and turns around. “Please take a seat on the examining couch,” he orders, stiff and a bit awkward, no matter how many times he tells himself that this is the only way to keep it professional between them.

He does his work and keeps up the usual chatter – the usual-for-every-other-patient chatter, but not the Misha-specific chatter, which he notices way too soon.

“Everything alright with you? No offense, but you seem a bit off,” Misha comments some ten minutes into their session.

“Yeah, I'm good,” Jensen reassures him in haste.

“A-huh,” Misha looks over his shoulder, from his position belly-down on the stretcher.

“Really.”

Misha is quiet for a long while, and it's the kind of silence that doesn't need awkward chatter to fill it. So Jensen keeps his mouth shut and keeps on massaging Misha, stretching his hurt joints and muscles.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Misha asks almost at the end of their session. “You can be honest with me, you know. And I'd get it, honestly, since I already know a lot of very personal stuff about you.”

“No, no, really,” Jensen shakes his head. “That's not it.”

He expects Misha to push him to spit it out, but in the end, Misha just nods, says “Okay,” and lets Jensen finish his work, following his instructions.

By the time Misha is back on his crutches and on his way to the door, Jensen thinks he's safe, and feels both relieved and sad to see Misha go. That's when Misha turns around.

“I'm sorry, Jensen,” he says, sincerity in his voice. “I didn't mean to come on to you or hit on you or anything. I just... it felt easy, since we already met before. It was inconsiderate of me to not take into account that you're still in mourning. I should've known better.”

“No, I...” Jensen groans, lets his head drop back and stares at the ceiling to collect his thoughts. “I never thought you did. It's just that I'm still kind of a basket case and so is Jared, and we’re still having a hard time figuring everything out. And it's my own fault for thinking... and, you know...” Jensen covers his face with both hands, embarrassed at what he just blurted out in a rush, feeling heat spread over his cheeks as he hides his blush. “I made it awkward,” he finishes. “Sorry.”

“Jensen, hey,” Misha addresses him softly and rests a hand on Jensen's shoulder, squeezing it. “Look at me, please.”

Jensen does, only to find the trademark playful smirk gone from Misha's face.

“I get it,” Misha admits. “What you're trying to say. I mean, this... us, this hasn't been like your usual relationship with any of your patients. Just like you and Jared were not my typical clients back then, and that's alright. I know what you're thinking, because I'm thinking it, too, honestly.”

“You are?” Jensen inhales a sharp breath.

Misha shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed as he drops his hand from Jensen's shoulder. “We like each other. We are similar guys in the way that we think and do things. We share the same sense of humor. I'm not surprised, even though I know it's not the time or the place. I guess what I'm trying to say is – how about we become friends?”

Jensen stares at him some more, then holds out his hand for Misha to shake it. They lock eyes and Jensen nods. “We can do that. Speaking for Jared here, too.”

“Alright,” Misha breaks into a grin, holding on to Jensen's hand a second too long.

It's far from uncomfortable, though.

“Are you free this weekend?” Jensen asks him, hears his voice shake with a nervousness he hasn't known since the early days of admiring his professor from afar.

“Actually, I am,” Misha beams. “What do you suggest?”

“Just, dinner at our place or something,” Jensen avoids his gaze, although he can't help but feel pleased. “Something nice and private.”

“Sounds great,” Misha smiles even wider.

“I'll, uh, I have your number from your file, so I'll just text you the date and maybe some obscure questions about food allergies?”

“You do that. Also, no food allergies,” Misha winks, then turns to leave after a long look at Jensen.

“Have a good evening!”

Misha smiles over shoulder. “You too.”

***  
  
“Okay, hold on, there's one part that I don't get,” Jared sits down on the couch beside him. “You talked about it without talking about it, decided to become friends and then you went ahead and agreed on a  _date_ ?”

Jensen shrugs. “Yeah?”

Jared huffs, rubs his hand over his mouth. “Honestly, I don't know how to feel about this. At all.”

Feeling a sharp pang of guilt, Jensen averts his eyes and finds the picture of them and Jeff in Berlin, hanging on the wall beside the TV. It only adds to the guilt, and Jensen's stomach churns. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so brazen.”

“It doesn't matter now, does it?” Jared stares at him from the side, but Jensen still won't meet his eyes.

“We could still cancel the whole thing,” Jensen offers with a tentative tilt of his head.

“Not like you want to,” Jared retorts.

Jensen nods. “Fair enough.”

“We can just treat him like a friend. Establish that as the status quo, you know? It's not like we don't know perfectly well how isolated we've been these past months,” Jared mumbles after a long minute of silence.

“Yeah,” Jensen agrees. The past months have been lonely, that's true, because when they were still three, there wasn't much more human interaction Jensen – their introvert per quota – even needed. Jared had enough friends at work, as had Jeff, and whenever Jensen needed someone to talk to, at least one of them was there.

Good friends, as in best friends – like Chris had been for Jensen in high school – aren't in the picture. Last time he'd seen Chris, it was on Chris' wedding day, three years ago. He just lived too far away for a short weekend trip, and losing contact afterwards happened faster than they both realized.

Jensen had never felt the need to nourish and pursue friendships, not when he'd had his two best friends at home. Which had come to bite him in the ass after Jeff's death.

“I'm just worried,” Jared continues. “Can we be friends with him? After he admitted to thinking about... you know?”

“We are three mature and reasonable human beings,” Jensen states with a raised eyebrow. “I think we can handle it. And like you said, establish the status quo, and it'll be fine. It's not like we fuck every one of our friends at work. Compartmentalize, that's the key. Right?”

“Right.” Jared nibbles on his bottom lip. “This is weird though.”

“Understatement,” Jensen huffs, reaching for his coffee mug on the couch table and taking a sip. “I mean, it was just a vague idea and I never thought it'd affect me this much. Plus, I feel guilty.”

“Because of Jeff?” Jared asks.

“Yes. I mean, we haven't even cleaned up the master bedroom and it's been over half a year.”

“True. We should probably get on that, you know. A new beginning and all that, no matter what this thing with Misha turns out to be.”

“Next weekend, then?”

Jensen cringes. “After dinner with Misha is probably better. We've got a lot to fix up around here, just look at the living room.”

There's a lot of clutter, ever since they’d been left without Jeff around anymore to kick their asses into cleaning up. Sure, they do what they need to, and every once in a while, Jensen gets the urge to tidy the living room or the kitchen, and Jared spends an evening every two weeks or so scrubbing the bathrooms clean. However, it's all too irregular, too uncoordinated. It all worked better with an extra set of hands, this whole housekeeping thing.

With a sigh, Jared looks around. “You're probably right. You wanna cook something special?”

“You got anything in mind?” Jensen smiles at him tentatively.

Jared taps his fingers against his chin, pondering. “We haven't had steak in a while. And potato salad, that would be awesome.”

“You got it,” Jensen nods, then reaches out to kiss him.

Jared isn't slow on the uptake, either, so he plucks the coffee mug out of Jensen's hands, sets it down on the table, then grabs Jensen with both hands around his waist and manhandles him into his lap, so Jensen ends up straddling his hips. Their kiss remains ongoing, with Jared kissing him deep and thorough, licking into his mouth, teasing the tip of his tongue.

With his hands still holding Jensen's hips in place, Jared rolls his pelvis upwards, rubs his crotch against Jensen's. Jensen lets out a surprised yelp that only seems to amuse Jared, who's grinning against his lips.

“Yeah, okay,” Jensen gasps after breaking their kiss. “I'm down with that.”

Jared sticks his hand down the front of Jensen's pants, and that's enough for now.

***  
  
It's awkward as hell.

All three of them are way too tense, from the moment Misha arrives and enters their house. Jensen serves the steak and they open a bottle of red while they're at it, but the alcohol doesn't particularly help. To be honest, at least with himself, Jensen admits that it was a bad idea, and he doesn't even know why they're doing it.

Misha chats with Jared over everything and nothing, and the conversation is a bit stilted and interspersed with beats of silence, all three of them trying desperately to come up with a topic to talk about.

At dessert – mousse au chocolate, as per Jared's request – Jensen doesn't even try to make conversation any more.

He has accepted that this whole thing is a big failure.

Sure, the idea was nice, but it's not easy to get used to someone else in their living space.

That is, until Misha sets his spoon aside and folds his hands in his lap, his dish not even half eaten. “Can I ask you something very personal?”

Jensen pauses, and Jared stuffs another spoonful of gooey chocolate cream into his mouth before he nods.

“Sure,” Jensen says, expecting a question about how they are.

“What would Jeffrey say if he saw you like this, right now? Having dinner with someone else while being distracted by some ulterior motives that aren't there and not pursued by anyone,” Misha states it calmly, a challenge to answer him, but he also hits right home.

They're silent for a long time after that question, Jared spooning up the last of his desert with a lost-in-thought frown on his face.

“Disappointed,” Jared says eventually. “That we can't even be good hosts to our guest.”

“Embarrassed,” Jensen supplies without further explanation.

He can almost see Jeff sitting there on his usual, now empty, chair, with his arms crossed in front of his chest and his lips pinched.

“So?” Misha prompts them.

“I don't know.” Jared shrugs.

Misha turns towards him with a tiny smile. “Okay, then let me try it like this... when my partner left us, my girlfriend and I had my mom over, about... I guess right around the half year mark, actually. And she had known about both my girlfriend and my boyfriend at the time, so she understood what was happening, or had happened. She had known us long enough to see that something was wrong, still wrong, after all this time despite the fact that we thought we had managed to get back to being the two of us, together, functioning despite everything.”

Jensen swallows heavily.

“And she said to us, back then, 'Don't try to fix everything in one go. Start fixing yourself, then your partner, then your life.' Basically, do what your heart feels is right. I know it's not universal knowledge that's applicable to everything in life, but it's a start.”

Jared puts down his spoon and stares into space.

“You're probably right,” Jensen sighs.

The night starts to become a lot more normal after that.

***  
  
The image of Misha standing in their bedroom the following Saturday is a strange, but reassuring one.

The room is stuffy, seeing way too little use these days. Dust particles are shimmering in the air, visible in the sunlight filtering through the opened blinds.

Misha claps his hands, cheerful and ready to go. “Alright. Where do we start?”

“I guess his clothes are the easiest choice,” Jared suggests while pointing at the closet to Misha's left. “Although there might still be some laundry in there--”

Jensen snorts. “I'm pretty sure we didn't take out the laundry basket, you know. Afterwards.”

“You two don't use this wardrobe?” Misha throws in.

“No, we've got our own in our rooms,” Jensen states matter-of-factly, then claps his hands, too, and grabs one of the moving boxes they've prepared. “Let's do this.”

The first handful of old, worn t-shirts is heavy in Jensen's hands. It looks lost in the too-big box, but Jensen averts his eyes and puts another couple of shirts on top of it. The fuller the box becomes, and the more Jared empties the shelf beside him, the less heavy the clothes feel, and in the end, they've got four boxes of clothes to give to a homeless shelter for men.

Misha tried to make them pick out clothes they'd like to keep, but Jensen rigorously shook his head no. Jared didn't argue with that, he'd seemed rather relieved to not have to make that decision.

“What about personal possessions? I see a lot of pictures in here, I guess you'd like to keep those?”

Jensen picks one off the wall, a shot of the three of them on a beach, taken during a vacation some three years ago. “Yeah, but I... I don't think I'd like to keep them like this.”

Misha picks another cardboard box and brings it to Jensen. “You can store it in here. We'll put that box in the attic.”

Jared sighs and points to the corner of the room. “Wait, we already have a box for that. We just didn't dare to put most of the meaningful stuff way.”

Jensen follows his line of sight to the framed picture of Sydney.

“I'd suggest you keep one to put it somewhere in the living room. Away from your bedroom, in any case,” Misha smiles at them, quietly supporting them, guiding them through the process. “It's not like you’re erasing all evidence that you loved Jeff. It's making your environment suitable for mourning him without being too much reminded of what once was.”

And what never will be again, rings in Jensen's ears, and as much as it hurts, it's also true.

They can both get behind that, so they put all of Jeff's stuff – not only the pictures, but also his shaver, his brush, personal items that are still useful but carry too many memories – into the box and Jared takes it up to the attic.

“You up for a trip?” Misha tips his head towards the front door. “I'd say we load up the truck, bring these boxes to the homeless shelter and then go shopping.”

“Shopping?” Jensen quirks an eyebrow at him.

With a guarded smile, Misha turns around. “You'll see.”

***  
  
After meeting an overjoyed and very grateful man who runs the homeless shelter - “These are great, such nice clothes, they're gonna be able to wear them for  _job interviews_ , do you have any idea how hard it is to get clothes like these? Thank you so much!” - Misha drives them to IKEA.

Jensen still has no idea what they're about to get before Misha is leading them into  the department for household textiles .

“What are we doing here?” Jared frowns at the curtains in the corner.

“Picking new curtains and sheets for your bed,” Misha states. “How about this one? A warm, red tone would fit perfectly with the dark wooden floorboards.”

“I didn't know you were a funeral director with a degree in interior design,” Jensen deadpans.

That makes both Jared and Misha laugh out loud, and Jensen smiles to himself. It's good to see them so happy.

And so, they end up buying some stuff they haven't bought in years, and when they return home, they change the bed sheets and the drapes on the windows.

The whole room appears to have changed. What used to be a cozy nest of dark blues and greens is now a welcoming room with earthy colors like orange and beige.

“I almost don't recognize the room, it's so different,” Jensen huffs in amusement when they're done, all three of them soaked in sweat – because they had to go ahead and buy new bedside tables and a dresser, too, which they had to assemble themselves.

“It's yours again, that's what makes it different,” Misha explains with his lips curled into a smile. “You took back your living space, you made it yours again, which it rightfully is, and don't let any feelings guilt-trip you into thinking otherwise.”

“God, I can't wait to sleep on the good mattress again,” Jared groans and drops face-first into the bed. “My back has been killing me lately.”

“I guess that's your cue, Jensen, to offer him a back rub, and my cue to get a move on,” Misha grins at him, then turns towards the door.

Jensen can't look away. Misha looks strange, his shoulders slump a bit, and the usual spring to his step is missing. Like he's hiding something, but Jensen refuses to believe that it is what he thinks it is.

“Please stay for dinner,” Jared offers from the bed, voice muffled by his pillow before he turns his head to speak over his shoulder. “You helped us all day today, in so many ways. At least let us feed you as a way of thanking you. I can collect that back rub later.”

“Yeah,” Jensen agrees, feeling the tingling in his nerves, in his shaking hands, even though he has no idea what to do about it. Must be exhaustion. So he stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Stay. You can use the shower while I cook. If, um, if you want.”

Misha's smile turns soft and pliant, although it's still as genuine as ever. “Trust me, if you really want to have dinner with me, I don't want you to have to smell me all the time. I reek. So, yes, I'll gladly accept.”

Jared grins over his shoulder, wide and obviously happy.

“What's for dinner, then, chef?” Misha smiles at Jensen.

“No idea, dude. I think our fridge is actually empty, we need to go grocery shopping, so, uh. Pizza?”

“I'm down with pizza.”

They end up on the couch, pizza boxes in their laps, watching the news and the following movie on TV, emptying two six packs of beer. To celebrate the fact that they've finally managed to clean out the room, Jensen breaks out Jeff's favorite bottle of whiskey, and they drink to him and the memories he left them.

Misha ends up sleeping on the couch, because he refused to use Jared's or Jensen's bed, while Jared and Jensen drop into their huge, king-sized bed and fall into the dreamless sleep of the slightly inebriated.

***

Waking up without a stiff neck, but with Jared at his side is the best way to start a Sunday morning, Jensen decides.

It's even better when Jared makes scrambled eggs and bacon and sausage for three people, because Misha sits at the kitchen table, yawning into his cup of green tea with the most epic case of bedhead that Jensen has ever seen. Well, besides Jared’s.

Jensen sips his coffee – it should do a good job of fixing the little headache he has – and looks at Jared handing Misha a plate with a casual smile, then turning around to fix some scrambled eggs for Jensen while humming some stupid tune that currently seeps into the room from the radio.

The sun has been up for a while, piercing through the clouds covering the sky every so often.

Jensen watches Jared cook and Misha stuff his face with scrambled eggs and can't help but think,  _This is what it's supposed to be like._

***  
  
It becomes a routine way too soon. Not that Jensen is uncomfortable with it, far from it, actually.

Misha's therapy is extended for another three weeks, as per the order of his doctor, and they chat over various exercises until sooner or later, the topic of the weekend comes up. One of them ends up suggesting dinner or a movie night, or nothing in particular, but they still meet up. Misha doesn't need his crutches any more, but he's still not completely recovered, so they don't go out and rather prefer staying at home.

Jared makes them a group chat on WhatsApp, which leads to Jensen having to silence his phone at work and deactivate the vibrate option so his patients don't think he's got a vibrator humming in his desk drawer. The two talk about god knows what all day – Jensen doesn't bother catching up after the third day, but Jared always summarizes the day's conversation and notable events over dinner anyway. Point is, they're getting along, even if it means bickering over Words with Friends – and who still plays that? Jensen wonders, but he bites his cheek when he witnesses the two duking it out with their cell phones clutched in their hands, sitting beside him on the couch on a Friday night.

It's nice, having Misha around. Jensen could get used to it, and it only scares him a little.

***

One Thursday evening in early July, they find themselves on their back porch with a cold beer in each of their hands, and Misha says, “You've got a great yard. Did you ever plan on doing anything with it?”

Jared chuckles. “Oh  _yes_ ,” he intones.

“We just never got around to doing it,” Jensen explains with a fond smile. “We thought about making the back porch a huge-ass deck, but all of us lack any carpenter skills. Jeff liked to describe this dystopian picture of Jared waltzing down half the garden without a clue what to do after. We also wanted to rip out all those old bushes along the street and replace the fence, but... you know how it is. We've both got jobs and little to no free time.”

Misha grins and shrugs. “Sounds great, if you ask me. And hey, I'm quite handy with tools, so if you need help...”

“Mish, you don't need to,” Jensen replies with a gentle smile that's supposed to gloss over the fact that he just called Misha by a nickname. Totally on accident. He feels his face heating up.

“I want to,” Misha locks eyes with Jensen. “I'm serious. If you could see my apartment... I haven't had a garden in years, I don't even have a balcony now and I love working outside and building stuff with my own hands.”

“You're still injured,” Jensen argues. “Your hip--”

“I can tell you what to do, if you want me to,” Misha answers without missing a beat. “Until I'm healthy enough to help.”

No matter how much Jensen reasons after that, Misha doesn't give in.

“We can start on our own, we're two grown guys!” Jensen protests some time later.

“Next Saturday?” Jared suggests.

Jensen looks at him, raises an eyebrow.

“Next Saturday, we'll rip out the hedge and the bushes and order the new fence.”

“Alright, let's do it,” Jensen confirms with a fistbump to Jared.

***  
  
Of course, they only managed to uproot one hazelnut bush by 11 am on that very Saturday.

“I'm hungry, this is so exhausting,” Jared groans. “Why are we doing this again?”

“To make the garden ours, to 'carve out some living space for ourselves.' Quote, unquote, Misha,” Jensen grunts, pulling on the stem to get it into the wheelbarrow.

“Speak of the devil,” Jared suddenly says, with a grin directed towards the house. “Hey Misha!”

With a big box of Tupperware in his hands, Misha makes his way down the steps of the back porch and heads over. “Hey guys! Thought I'd bring you some lunch for today. Just leftovers from yesterday, but...”

Jensen is staring at him for an almost too long moment. Misha's everything, really. Considerate, caring, smart, funny. Perfect.

That sort of thought is kind of frightening, so Jensen shoves it to the back of his mind quickly.

“Anything I can help you with?” Misha offers when they're done demolishing cold turkey roast sandwiches and some fresh cut fruit, which were definitely not leftovers.

“Don't hurt yourself, so you recover properly,” Jensen answers, quick as a shot.

“But I've only got one more week with you,” Misha almost pouts. “Honestly, I feel fine, and I'm itching to do something. I can't stay locked up in that tiny apartment all day, especially not when it's summer and the weather is so perfect. So isn't there something easy to do that I can help with? Because I'd really like to help you.”

After some arguing back and forth, Jared is the one who gives in and lets Misha do some little jobs to help them.

At the end of the day, they're back on the porch, sitting on the two steps that lead down to the lawn. They're exhausted, dirty – covered in mud and earth and grass stains up to their shoulders – their clothes are soaked with sweat and Jensen hasn't felt this good in months. Jared steps inside to fetch three beers, and while they're still staring at the garden that looks more like a building site than a recreational space, they're taking slow sips from it, savoring it, savoring the feeling of having made exceptional progress today.

“Jeff would love it,” Jared suddenly throws in, a huge grin on his lips.

Jensen takes in the garden, the pile of tools they’d gathered in a corner, the dirt all over the porch and the fence partly torn down. He thinks back to the time when he and Jeff bought the house and moved in, the following months spent doing all kinds of renovations – it was an old house, so they changed the windows and redid the roof. It was a lot of work, very stressful work, and while it brought them to the edge of their productive capability, what with working their regular jobs on the side, it was very satisfying in the end. Jeff and Jensen had gotten tangled up in one argument after another during that time, stupid little misunderstandings and differences in opinions they usually would have accepted and moved on from. But when they were as stressed out as during that time, the renovations quickly led to a shouting match that ended as abruptly as it started.

Jeff, though. Jeff had loved that stress. He'd loved researching all kinds of stuff they could work at, loved reading into the subject and learning how to do it. He'd loved calling craftsmen from all over the city and making appointments and gathering offers. Without him, Jensen would've crumbled under the immense pressure.

Jeff had loved turning things upside down and making them newer, better.

So Jensen nodds. “Yeah, he'd be in love with this chaos right now,” he huffs.

Jared chuckles, and Jensen notices a streak of dark brown soil across his cheek. It looks too adorable to tell him, so Jensen stays quiet, as does Misha, and smiles into the mouth of his beer bottle. Misha's eyes skip from Jensen to Jared and back, until he ducks his head to try and fail to hide his grin.

The silence isn't broken until five minutes later.

“So, when do we start with the big-ass deck?” Misha asks, and Jensen can't help but laugh.

***  
  
They take on the challenge that is the deck some four weeks later, in the worst of the July heat. Or rather, they try working around it by starting early in the morning, napping on the couch during the midday heat, and start again in the late afternoon.

Jared is good when it comes to ripping stuff up with his hands, plus he's got a hand for the heavy machinery, so Jensen lets him rip out the lawn and tamp the area with the land grader they rented. In the meantime, he sets up the concrete to fill up the rectangular hole in their lawn.

By lunchtime, they've set the foundation and the mounting for the wooden boards.

“Take a break?” A voice startles them, right when Jensen is looking up at the sun sitting high in the sky and wondering about just that.

“Misha,” Jared grins, walks up to him in all his soil-covered, sweaty glory and hugs him.

Misha shoves him off with a bright laugh. “Get off me, you sweaty dirt monster!”

“Hey,” Jensen greets him, and it comes out a bit soft. “What are you doing here?”

“Helping, what else?” Misha points at his heavy boots and grass-streaked shorts. The t-shirt he wears has been one too many times through the washer – not that it's too tight, it's rather a bit sloppy around his frame, but somehow manages to emphasize that fact at the same time – no, it's threadbare and the collar is ripped in one place and--

Jensen has to remind himself that his boyfriend is standing right beside him while he's hugging Misha, so that's not making things better at all.

A wide grin splits Misha's lips, and only now does Jensen notice that he apparently hasn't shaved this morning, since his cheeks are covered in dark, way too attractive stubble.

Jensen has the very sudden, very overwhelming urge to trail his lips over Misha's growing beard, but it's not like he'd act on it.

“You can handle the electric saw?” Jensen asks him instead.

“Sure thing. Floorboards?”

“Yes,” Jensen confirms. “But after lunch. Also, I need to put on some sunscreen. I'm getting more freckles by the second.”

“Aw, but your freckles are cute,” Jared teases him, returning to his side. “Right, Misha?”

“Right,” Misha throws in, and he looks less uncomfortable than Jensen thought he would.

“Really, guys? Teaming up on me to make fun of me? Not cool,” Jensen tsks with a playful smirk.

Jared wraps an arm around Misha's shoulders and leads him inside over the porch, tiptoeing around the edge of the deck's still-wet concrete foundation with the elegance of a three-legged gazelle.

Jensen almost falls into the concrete from laughing.

That laugh, however, is gone by the time Misha stands in their garden that evening, his shirt soaked with sweat and dirty from sawdust, clinging to his body, as they cut board after board to attach to the deck. He's smiling and grinning and shit-talking with Jared, who's running around shirtless by now, and Jensen can't help but soak up the atmosphere.

When they call it a night, the deck is half-way done.

Jensen is too, but it's more from his nerves from seeing Jared and Misha fool around all day, a permanent smile engraved on all three of their faces.

***  
  
That evening, they end up on the couch together after taking turns showering, watching some plotless action flick on TV. Their bellies are full with pizza and salad, each of them has a bottle of cold beer in their hand, and Jensen thinks that life is good.

He falls asleep three minutes later, and when he wakes up, it's with his head resting against Misha's shoulder.

Misha's big blue eyes look down at him with an amused spark in them as he sits up. “You with us again, sleeping beauty?”

“Fuck off,” Jensen mumbles without venom, then drops back against Misha, thunks his head heavily against his shoulder just to spite him. “You're comfortable.”

Jared's smile is soft and gentle when he meets Jensen's eyes from Misha's other side. He's guarded, but it's like Jensen can read his mind.  _I know what you're doing,_ is what his eyes are saying.  _I don't know if I should mind, but if it makes you happy, I won't object._

Then Jared grins and shifts so he can rest his head against Misha's other shoulder.

“Guys,” Misha clears his throat after a second's hesitation. “If you... I mean. I don't want to--”

“Mish,” Jensen interrupts him, looks up to take in Misha's reddened cheeks and his uncomfortable and slightly insecure posture. “Don't overthink it.”

Misha takes a deep lungful of air, sighs and shrugs, jostling both of them off his shoulders. “Okay,” he grins innocently.

Jensen nudges his side and sits back up, their balance back in order. He seeks and finds Jared's eyes again, and they're shining with mirth.

Another hour and some mindless late-night TV later, Jared yawns like he's about to bite someone's head off. “Hey, Misha, you wanna stay over?”

Misha hesitates for a second, but then he sighs. “Can't. My apartment is I mess and I meant to do some clean-up and laundry and stuff today, but then you guys had to go ahead and build a deck.”

With a nod at the clock mounted on the wall, Jensen raises an eyebrow. “And you're gonna do laundry at midnight and then come help us with the deck again tomorrow, because let's face it, you wouldn't let us do it without you?”

Jensen bites the inside of his cheek as he watches Misha's face go from torn, to frowning, to obviously realizing the truth. A groan parts his lips, a sound so lewd that Jensen doesn't want to memorize it for later but kind of can't help but do exactly that.

“Fine. Let's finish the deck early tomorrow so I at least get back to my apartment tomorrow afternoon, okay?”

***  
  
Later, in bed, Jared pulls Jensen into his body with an arm curled around his shoulder.

“You alright?” he asks quietly.

Jensen nods and kisses his neck.

Jared tips his chin up, smiles at him and fits his lips over Jensen's, kissing him with slow, deliberate moves. He's in complete control of the situation, even as he starts dipping his tongue in-between Jensen's lips, even when his lips drop open to start a series of open-mouthed, passionate kisses that spike a fire within Jensen. Like he had done so many times before, Jensen rolls on top of him, his left knee resting between Jared's legs, his thigh pressing against Jared's hard cock.

“Jen,” he gasps, sounding winded and a little bit less in control, and Jensen can't help but grin into the following kiss.

With a slow roll of his hips that brings his thigh hard against Jared's throbbing dick, he bites and nibbles at Jared's bottom lip before he asks, “Yes? Anything you want me to do?”

“Blow me,” Jared whispers, his voice breaking. “Please.”

“Sure thing,” Jensen promises, still grinning when he kisses his way down Jared's jaw, down his neck and chest, over his belly button and down the line of crude dark hair. He loves the way Jared smells and tastes, the soap he uses lingering on his skin, the faint taste of fresh sweat, salty and sweet. He loves how his muscles bulge under his tanned skin, how he can run his hands and lips over the patch of hair on his chest, tease his nipples, and move lower, to the softer skin of his stomach.

There's not a single doubt in Jensen's mind that he loves Jared in every way imaginable and possible. He loves him with all his quirks, and he has many, and loves his gentleness and the way he cares about his loved ones, always has, always will. Jensen tells him as much, but with his lips and hands instead of words. He always believed that one could say a lot without using words.

Jensen leans down, shifts to lie down between Jared's legs, and runs his tongue up the underside of Jared's cock. When he reaches the tip, he circles it, mouths at it, teases Jared until he whines and begs by thrusting his hips upwards, towards Jensen's mouth. In the end, Jensen presses a kiss to the slit, licks up the drop of pre-come that has gathered there, before he takes Jared into his mouth and slides all the way down. Jared isn't small by any means, but Jensen has had time to train, and he knows that Jared likes it even more when there's a hand caressing his balls, so he does just that.

When he looks upwards, he finds Jared panting, his chest rising and falling in quick succession. “You trying to impress me, Jen?” Jared chuckles while trying to catch his breath.

Jensen grins around the dick in his mouth and lets the sensitive head slide along his gums a few times – a difficult angle, one where he really needs to watch his teeth in order to not hurt Jared, but favorable because of the reaction that it always gets out of Jared.

He arches his back, moans, curses, grabs at Jensen's shoulders. “Fuck,” he groans again. “Show-off,” he adds as an afterthought.

Jensen hums.

That's when the sound of the downstairs toilet flushing interrupts them.

Jensen pauses for the second it takes him to realize that they're not alone in the house tonight. It hasn't been the first time, of course, but he's also suddenly reminded just who is sleeping in the living room tonight.

He shakes the thought off and goes back to work. After all, he's focusing on Jared now, and Jared should get his undivided attention.

So Jensen pulls off, strokes Jared's cock a few times, running his palm over the head with every stroke. When he looks up to see how Jared is doing, he's surprised yet again to see how calm Jared seems, especially considering their situation.

Jensen shoots him a questioning look, not sure how to ask what's wrong.

Jared waves him off, then reaches down to guide his mouth back to his dick. His hand is still wrapped around Jensen's neck, his thumb occasionally running over Jensen's cheek.

They've done this a hundred times and more over the past eight years, and Jensen still gets achingly hard blowing Jared, but today it's different. He closes his eyes and tries to make it good for Jared, no, make it better than ever, to prove to him that he truly has Jensen's undivided attention, which, huh.

“You're thinking about _him_ ,” Jared states from above, his voice barely above a breathy moan.

He doesn't sound half as disapproving as Jensen thinks he should. It's not like he can protest or agree, though, so Jensen checks with a short glance that yes, Jared is indeed smiling down at him, before he continues.

“You're thinking about proving to me that I'm everything on your mind when you and I both know who's downstairs, and what we sometimes think about him,” Jared continues, his voice a soft, monotonous wave washing over Jensen, turning him on even more. “This is just between us, now, so let's just... you'd like to do this to him, wouldn't you? Show him everything you've got, how pretty you look with a dick between your lips.”

Jensen groans in agreement. As always, Jared is scary when he's reading Jensen's thoughts.

“You're thinking about how you'd like to get him off, with your hand or your mouth, and what he'd feel like, taste like,” Jared runs his thumb over Jensen's cheek again, feels the movement of his cock inside, dips the tip of his finger into the corner of Jensen's mouth. “How he'd sound, moaning when he comes inside you. How he'd feel and move underneath you. God, can't say I haven't been thinking about it, either. Those pretty blue eyes looking at me like you do now--”

Jensen knows that breathing pattern, has recognized it immediately, and strokes Jared two, three times after pulling off his cock, and that's enough. Jared hits his climax hard, coming over his stomach and Jensen's hand with a choked-off groan. With practiced motion, Jensen reaches for the tissues on the bedside table, hands one to Jared and uses one to wipe off his own hand.

“Thank you,” Jared says after cleaning his belly.

“Anytime,” Jensen answers, snuggling into his side.

“What about you?” Jared asks and kisses his temple.

“I'm good.”

“No, you're not,” Jared chuckles, solely from the fact that he knows how much Jensen loves giving head. “So spill. What can I do?”

“I--” Jensen breaks off, then takes a deep breath. “I'm not sure I could let you do anything right now without thinking about... you know.”

“Fucking him, instead of me,” Jared completes his sentence, although he is mistaken this time – or he just likes Jensen to correct him.

“Fuck him, with you,” Jensen scolds him. “But it's too confusing, right now. As long as I haven't sorted out... whatever is going on here...”

“Until then we can't have sex?” Jared looks so scandalized in the soft orange glow of the lamp on the bedside table that Jensen has to laugh.

“No, of course we can. Just, maybe, not today. Not after what you said.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't--”

Shaking his head, Jensen interrupts him and explains in an amused tone. “No, it's fine. It's actually quite a relief to know how you feel. But it's a bit too prominent right now.”

“Oh. Alright,” Jared sounds sheepish and cute, so Jensen kisses him. Chaste, on the lips. Nothing fancy.

“Let's sleep and not overthink things, alright?” Jensen suggests. “Good night, Jay.”

“Yeah,” Jared answers without hesitation. “Good night, Jensen.”


	4. ... worth living

“I'd like to invite you two to dinner,” Misha says one evening in the middle of August, sitting on one of the bar stools in the kitchen while Jensen cooks. “How's next weekend?”

“Uh,” Jensen looks up from where he's dicing onions for the stew. “Good. I guess. Jare?”

“Yeah, we should be free. Dinner at your place, then?” Jared throws in from the living room.

Misha smiles. “Actually, I'd like to go to the Grill... restaurant... thing, what's it called? On the other end of town.”

“Ricky's BBQ of Awesome?” Jared suggests.

“Yeah! That. If you'd like,” Misha gestures to them, encompassing the kitchen and the living room.

“Sure!”

Jensen smiles and nods. “I'd like to. But what's the occasion?”

“My 41st birthday,” Misha deadpans.

“What? You're kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I'm kidding?” Misha retorts, and stares at Jensen with a stoic face when he turns around.

Jensen grins. “Yes, completely.”

“Damn, you know me too well,” Misha grouses without venom. 

“So, 41, huh?” Jensen teases after a short pause that he used to cut the tomatoes. “I never would've guessed.”

“It's not like you're that much younger than I am,” Misha pouts.

Jensen grins and shrugs shrugs.

“Honestly, I don't care all that much. I just want to have a nice evening out with my friends.”

“So there are gonna be more people than us?” Jensen is torn between feeling disappointed and relieved.

“No, there aren't,” Misha replies. “I don't have many friends, you know. As one of the acquaintances I met after moving here put it after a couple months, my 'brand of crazy isn't something you just get used to'.”

“Didn't notice that, to be honest.”

“Well, I did tone it down after... that.”

Jensen rests a hand on his shoulder, then hands him a cutting board and a bowl of mushrooms.

“Don't,” Jensen just says quietly.

Misha doesn't respond, but the smile on his lips is warm and genuine when he picks up the bowl to clean the mushrooms.

***  
  
They go out on Misha's birthday to said steakhouse. The food is good, and it's not even half as awkward as Jensen feared it would be, since they got a small round table, perfect for the three of them. Jared eats more steak than is good for his coronary vessels – and Jensen tells him so before handing over his plate with his own leftover steak.

“So we kinda didn't have an idea of what to get you for your birthday,” Jensen starts when they're – meaning, Jared is – done with dessert and sipping from a glass of wine. “But we remembered that you like bicycle tours, so...”

“Wanna go on a bicycle tour slash camping trip with us as long as it's still summer?” Jared asks, picking up Jensen's sentence.

Misha's curious face turns surprised, then delighted with a wide grin appearing on his lips. “I'd love to! And I'd finally have a reason to get my bike out of storage. It'll need some work but then we're good to go.”

Jensen chuckles. “Oh, we've got some work to do on ours, too,” he admits. “But at least we'll have a reason now.”

“Yeah. So, next weekend, how about you come over and we get our bikes ready? Then we can also start planning the trip. We thought it could be at some nice, local lake with a couple camping sites to cycle 'round during the weekend.”

The grin on Misha's lips doesn't leave his face for the rest of the evening.

When they're on their way home, or rather on their way towards the bus station, Misha stops about a block away. “I live down here, so--”

“Here?” Jared bursts out, surprised.

Jensen raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Misha shrugs. “It's not much, just an apartment, you know. Affordable. But if you don't mind, I'd like to invite you for coffee. Or tea. Whatever you'd like, I mean, since it's late.”

Is Misha stammering? Jensen looks at him again and finds him fidgeting with his hands, a soft rosy touch to his cheeks, and he has a hard time holding back from pulling Misha into his arms to tell him it's alright. It's alright because Jensen's heart is beating too fast, too loud in his chest, too.

“Since we're already here, I guess it's about time we see your apartment. What do you say, Jensen?” Jared turns to him, nudges him in his side.

“Yes, I... um, we can do that.”

Jared grins at him. Of course the fucker is picking up on Jensen's mood.

Misha's apartment turns out to be a one-room living situation with a desk that also serves as a table for the tiny kitchenette. It's cramped and with three guys their size, sitting around the end of a messy desk isn't the most comfortable thing in the world.

But the coffee is good, Jensen has to admit, and the company makes up for everything else.

“No offense,” Jared chuckles, “But I know why you hang around our house as much as you do.”

“None taken, I know what this looks like,” Misha looks a bit sheepish as he fidgets with his spoon. “Still, if it becomes too often...”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Jensen smiles at him. “You're always welcome.”

Misha avoids his gaze in favor of staring into his cup of coffee. “You know, this apartment... I got it after my break-up and after moving here, because I got lucky. It's cheap and I can take the bus to work, but I hate the fact that I don't have a garden or any space to do anything around here. So I really don't like to impose on you, no matter how much I love your garden and the house and--”

He stops himself and Jensen screams inwardly.

_What do you love? Being with us? Spending time with us? Do you love_ us _? Tell me!_

A flash of guilt hits him then, at the thought. He remembers Jeff, his soft smile, and how he'd first taken Jensen to that house, how they bought it and everything--

“Misha, seriously,” Jared smiles at him, so gentle and patient that Jensen wants to kiss him for derailing that train of thought. Trust Jared to find the right words in situations like these. “Don't be ridiculous. We wouldn't have known what to do with ourselves and the house if it wasn't for you in those past months. You truly are always welcome in our home.”

Misha looks like he might protest one final time, but in the end he huffs out a laugh. “Thank you.”

***  
  
Their camping trip turns out to be an absolute success. The weather is perfect when they head out on Friday afternoon towards a lake near Austin, and it's evening by the time they reach their first camping site. Jared and Misha are already tanned and Jensen looks like a bull might attack him if he was placed in front of one, so they take turns applying sun lotion to his back, which is only damage control at this point.

“I never realized you have so many freckles,” Misha notes at some point during the second day on the road.

Jensen dismisses him with a hum.

“Don't tell me you don't like them?” Misha looks scandalized. “They're cute as hell.”

“Shut up, I'm not cute,” Jensen grumbles.

Jared laughs from where he's riding in front of them, giving an impressive view of his toned back and legs and ass and... well, he's distracting, to sum it up.

“He's right, though,” Jared teases with a look over his shoulder at Jensen.

“You shut up, too!”

At the end of each day, they swim in the lake to cool down, set up their tents, and the only thing wrong after sitting around a campfire until the stars come out is when Misha crawls into his tent, and Jared and Jensen into their own.

***  
  
September turns into October, and Halloween is spent with Misha dressed as a fluffy blue monster handing out candy at Jared and Jensen's door. Christmas rolls around, and for the first time in almost a year, Jensen experiences the full set-back, the full power right hook in the face, of realizing that it will be their first Christmas without Jeff.

Misha hasn't anyone to spend the holidays with, either, so he ends up on the couch next to Jared and Jensen, wearing an ugly red and green sweater and trying to take their mind off things.

When that doesn't work to lift the gloomy mood, Misha surprises them both. “What did you usually do during the holidays?” he asks.

They both mull it over for a few moments before Jensen says, “Jeff would make his famous only-on-Christmas stuffed duck and we'd eat that for three days in a row.”

“And we'd watch Die Hard, because we're dorks like that,” Jared adds with a fond smile slowly spreading on his lips.

“So let's watch Die Hard,” Misha grins. “And then the Shrek Christmas Special. It's probably on TV somewhere.”

Jensen stares at him for a moment, then laughs. “Alright.”

“Hey, sorry that we're so moody today,” Jared apologizes to Misha.

“No, I get it,” Misha shrugs. “No need to apologize. Holidays are difficult, but we can make the best out of it, right? Jeff wouldn't want you to break with tradition, either. Right?”

“Right,” Jared agrees.

Jensen listens quietly and wonders where this will lead them, but quickly dismisses the thought as he starts the TV.

***  
  
On New Year’s Eve, Misha is with them once again. He kind of didn't quite leave after Christmas.

Jensen kisses Jared when the ball drops, and surprises himself when he turns around, one hand on Misha's shoulder, and almost does the same to him. Misha just stares at him, lips slack and slightly parted, looking dazed and confused and so, so hopeful that it breaks Jensen's heart.

So to prevent the situation from becoming any more awkward, Jensen leans in and kisses Misha on the cheek. It's supposed to be manly and a bit gruff, but probably doesn't turn out that way and Jensen doesn't particularly care. Misha's stubble is soft and fuzzy under Jensen's lips, tingling where it meets his sensitive skin, and Misha smells of something earthy and fresh. Jensen likes it.

“Hey,” Jared protests from the sidelines, and Jensen is shocked at his own actions for a moment. Then he turns around to find Jared grinning at them. “No fair, I wanna do that, too.”

He slips past Jensen to sit on Misha's other side, cups his cheek, presses a hard kiss to the other, and grins at the still-baffled Misha, all within the next five seconds.

Jensen huffs, then starts laughing. He can't help it, he feels happy. When he sees Jared looking at Misha like that, something warm and fuzzy spreads in the pit of his stomach, pleasant and familiar like it's always been there. While he's still laughing, Jensen throws his right arm over Misha's shoulders and reaches out for Jared's neck with his left hand, pulling them both into an awkwardly cramped three-way hug on the sofa.

“I'm glad you're here,” Jensen admits to both of them, smiling.

“Me too,” Jared says.

“So, to a Happy New Year,” Misha grins and squeezes his arm tighter around Jensen's waist.

His heart feels so full, so filled with joy and gratefulness, that Jensen thinks it might burst any second now.

“Happy New Year,” he says instead, and nudges his forehead against Jared's and Misha's.

***  
  
Misha notices.

By the end of January, a strange mood has spread through the Ackles-Padalecki household, and of course Misha notices. He spends far too much time in their presence to not notice.

“The anniversary of Jeff's death is coming up, right?” he asks over dinner, one Tuesday evening.

Jensen swallows his curry with rice and sighs. “Yeah. February 3 rd .”

“Are you planning anything?”

“We'll visit the grave,” Jared says, curtly, and that's that.

Jensen can't help but feel off kilter those few days leading up to that particular first anniversary. Ironically, it's also the anniversary of when they met Misha. Well, technically a day later, but the connection is strong.

On February 3 rd , it's not sunny like it was last year, and it's not overly warm considering the season like it was last year. There's no snow, either. Instead, the wind blows cold around the house, makes the blinds rattle and whistle, and clouds hang heavy and low in the sky. It's not raining and not clearing up, like the weather is as indifferent as Jensen feels when he gets up that day and goes through his morning routine.

It's a Wednesday, so they still have to go to work, and on the way home, Jensen picks up a bouquet that they pre-ordered for the occasion. When he unlocks the door of their house, he finds Jared in the kitchen, talking on the phone.

'I'm home,' Jensen mouths, walking up to him.

“Hey,” Jared smiles, a bit subdued, and leans in to kiss him hello. “No, he just came home,” he adds into the speaker.

Jensen points at the phone with a questioning eyebrow.

“Misha,” Jared answers, lips quirking into a lopsided little smile. Suddenly, his eyes shift away and the smile turns a bit wider. “Yeah, no, that's totally fine, we can do that. Uh, hey, we're about to head over to the graveyard, we could pick you up. No, of course not. Yeah, see you in a few.”

Jensen stares at him for a second after Jared hangs up. “Did I get that right, we're taking Misha with us when we go to visit Jeff's grave?”

“Sure, why not?” Jared shrugs. “We made plans for dinner, and he said he wouldn't mind waiting while we visit. It would be a detour for him and for us, otherwise.”

Jensen purses his lips and decides to go with the truth, as harsh as it may sound. “Don't you think it's inappropriate, bringing Misha to our deceased partner's grave? I mean, he didn't even know Jeff, all he did was plan his funeral.”

“Don't you think Misha has spent enough time with us to have a connection to Jeff by default? Plus, it's not like he'll bother us,” Jared replies with a scowl, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Still. We were the ones who loved him, that's different,” Jensen argues. “Also I'm really wondering why I need to explain this to you at all.”

“Jensen,” Jared sighs, dropping his head.

“No, don't 'Jensen' me here, I won't fall for it.”

Jared sighs again, slumping in on himself. He rubs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “I thought you'd see the symbolism of bringing him.”

“What symbolism?” Jensen snaps, irritated. He has a feeling that he knows what Jared means, but he's feeling like being stubborn. Acknowledging would be... admitting defeat.

Jared hesitates. Instead of explaining right away, he searches Jensen's eyes for a give-away that Jensen will break, make this in any way easier for them.

Jensen doesn't back down. This is the day to honor Jeff's memory, not completely undermine it, and Jensen won't stand for it.

In the end, it's Jared who gives in. “The symbolism of bringing someone who's... how do I put this – who could probably be our new partner to 'meet' our former partner.”

“I get that,” Jensen admits with a frown. “Doesn't mean I think it's a good idea.”

“Why? What makes this so offensive to you?” Jared asks.

“Because. Today's about Jeff. Not about Misha or us. It's his day.”

Jared shakes his head, then sidesteps him to enter the hallway.

“What, you're just ignoring me now?”

“I think you're being stubborn and immature. So are we going to the graveyard or what?” Jared returns, grabbing his jacket from the coat rack.

“Oh, insults, that's what we've come to. Nice one, Jay,” Jensen spits, unfazed.

Jared rolls his eyes. “Now you're just being childish. Come on, Jensen.”

“Come on? Come on, what? Come on, forget about Jeff already?” Jensen is aware that he's raising his voice, but he's really pissed off by now.

“No! What do you think we're doing here?” Jared replies, starting to get irritated himself.

“We're arguing about the fact that you want to bring Misha to Jeff's grave when he's got no business being there.”

“And who decides if he's got any right to be there or not?” Jared challenges him, crosses his arms in front of his chest again, puffs his chest up.

Jensen is not intimidated. “You and me. And I say he doesn't.”

“So you decide and my opinion doesn't matter? It's like you're completely forgetting what happened these past months. Between us and Misha.”

“Don't worry, I haven't forgotten. But that's not something that should matter on a day like this,” Jensen states, as calm as he's able to.

“Says you,” Jared spits.

“Says me.”

“So it hasn’t occurred to you that this would be the perfect opportunity to tell Misha about the place he has in our lives right now? To show him what he means to us?”

“I--” Jensen breaks off, averts his eyes. And that's just the point, because he knows what Jared means. The grand gesture of bringing Misha, of 'introducing' him, of 'telling' Jeff. The recognition, the confession. Yet, it just doesn't sit right with him.

“Don't lie to me, Jensen. You know we're thinking the same thing about this, feeling the same towards Misha. This isn't a spur of the moment thing, this has been building for months. Don't tell me I'm freaking out for nothing here,” Jared huffs, looking at Jensen with begging puppy dog eyes, the kind that always make him weak and Jared knows that.

“But... don't you think it's like we're belittling Jeff's memory by substituting him so easily?” Jensen mumbles, fidgeting. He can't help but feel nervous.

“Who says anything about substituting?” Jared spreads his arms wide, a desperate gesture. “Listen to yourself, Jen, please. And what do you mean, 'so easily'? It's been over a year.”

“It's been a year, exactly. That's my entire point.”

“Didn't both you and Misha tell me at some point that mourning is something everybody does at their own pace and on their own conditions?”

“Yeah, but--” Jensen breaks off. It's infuriating, how much sense Jared makes, and Jensen just feels more and more insecure and unsettled.

“To be completely honest, I've been over Jeff's death. For a while, now. And I'm fine, I wanna move on. I don't want to be stuck in limbo forever.”

Jensen glares at him without holding back, because now he's irked. “Who says I want to be stuck in limbo? I'm just... this doesn't sit right me, what's so hard to believe about that?”

“I can't believe it because _I can't see your reasoning_!” Jared leans forward, punctuating almost each carefully pronounced word.

Jensen huffs and glares at the tiled floor for a moment of silence. It's always been like this with Jared – he's outgoing, passionate, impulsive in the good and the bad ways. He came into Jeff's and Jensen's relationship like a hurricane, swept them off their feet and left them with their world upside down. Different than Misha, so different.

“You wouldn't understand even if I explained,” Jensen sighs, then finally meets Jared's troubled eyes again.

His lips are pinched into a hard line when Jared answers, “Why wouldn't I?”

“You wouldn't know what it feels like,” Jensen admits quietly. “Because you were the new one.”

Jared splutters, obviously enraged. “What?”

“Well, you were the one that came into our relationship back then, so you don't know what that--”

“Oh, no, Jen, I understand perfectly,” Jared answers, monotone. “But I'm so angry right now, I don't even know what to say to you.”

Jensen stares at his blazing eyes, his defensive posture, his pinched lips, and waits, not budging an inch.

“So you think because you met Jeff first, you're the expert on polyamorous relationships? Is that it?”

“No, it's not,” Jensen winces, closes his eyes for a moment. “But it's different. Misha isn't Jeff and--”

“Exactly!” Jared yells now, right into Jensen's face, and he flinches again. “That's exactly my point! Don't you get it? They're different people, they have different effects on us, different roles in our lives, so care to explain to me again how we're 'substituting' for Jeff here?”

“Fine, you're right about that. Feel better now?” Jensen snaps.

Jared groans, covering his face in both hands. “Jensen, please. All I want to do is make you see... you know what, you're right,” he suddenly says, interrupting himself and looking at Jensen. “I  _was_ the new one. I know what it must feel like to be Misha, so, yeah, I try to make it easier for him to find his place with us. What's wrong with that?”

“I don't feel good doing this,” Jensen says again. “Not today.”

“So, what, it's too soon?”

“Maybe. I know that there isn't a set frame of time that you need to stick to when it comes to mourning, but... it doesn't feel like the right time, today, either.”

Jared huffs. “Fine. Then we won't take him if you're not okay with it. Just tell me, please, that you'll be willing to move on some day.”

“What do you mean?” Jensen shakes his head, confused. “Move on from Jeff? I think we're already well on our way there.”

“Yes, we are, and that's good and all, but... I meant move on, let someone new into our relationship. Because if that last year has shown us anything, it's that the two of us work better with a third party involved, and that's not something to be ashamed of.”

Jensen stares at him for a while, lets the words sink in. It's true that they've been fighting less often since they started hanging out with Misha. Jeff always had a calming effect on Jensen's impulsive cynicism and Jared's hot head, and Misha – consciously or not – does, too. He's been good for them, there's no denying that.

“No, it isn't,” Jensen eventually admits, feeling the fight drain out of him, leaving him exhausted and winded. “Look, can we just... visit Jeff now?”

Jared hesitates, but then he asks. “So, should we pick up Misha afterwards?”

Jensen bites his lip and meets Jared's soft, gentle eyes. He's not in a fighting mood anymore, either, and it's like the waves have settled between them. So Jensen steps closer, hugs Jared and rests his chin on his shoulder. It's good to feel Jared's warmth, the familiar shape of his bones and muscles and skin underneath Jensen's own. It's home and it's everything he needs right now.

“We can pick him up on the way,” Jensen gives in. “He can go do... something else while we're at the graveyard. You said he won't mind waiting.”

“No, he won't. I guess he won't mind waiting in more ways than one,” Jared mumbles into Jensen's ear.

Jensen feels the pressure lift from his shoulders simultaneously to Jared's arms wrapping around his waist.

“We'll be okay,” Jared says, and it sounds like a promise.

With an amused snort, Jensen blows the strands of Jared's hair that are tickling his nose away. “Yeah, we will.”

***  
  
As promised, Misha waits patiently in the car, playing around on his phone, while Jared grabs the flowers and Jensen's hand and they walk down to the white headstone with Jeff's name on it.

“Heya, Jeff,” Jared says softly when he bends to lay down the bouquet, smiling softly.

Jensen stands behind him, and they say their prayers in silence.

_I'm sorry_ , is the first thing that hits Jensen's mind.  _I'm sorry, Jeff. I can't help it. But I keep hurting Jared without meaning to. And I keep thinking about a guy who's not you, and I feel bad for it. I don't know what to do, here. I wish I had your advice, I wish I could talk to you. I know it won't happen. Please tell me if it's alright._

_I miss you so much._

The headstone doesn't provide him with answers. Of course not.

***  
  
They have dinner together afterwards, and while Jared and Jensen are rather quiet, Misha keeps up the conversation by himself, talking about everything and nothing, pleasant chatter that keeps the atmosphere light. He's good like that.

Jensen realizes with astonishing clarity that Misha is the glue that keeps them together – has been for a while now. It's so much easier with him around. He's considerate and funny and he's everything they need.

Misha grins at Jared, at some kind of joke that he just made and Jared snorted out a laugh at, and Jensen feels like the biggest jerk on the face of the earth.

He knew, and he just blew the perfect opportunity to tell Misha.

Jensen's heart makes a painful thump in his chest, and he can't breathe for a second.

It's not like they didn't know what they felt for Misha. They both do, very clearly. Very openly, too, if Jared's running commentary during their increasingly recovering sex life is anything to go by.

Misha seems to sense that something is going on with Jensen and turns to him. The power of his expressive, worried blue eyes hits Jensen full force, dead on, like a punch to the gut. His heart jumps again, this time to a higher pace, and his skin feels too tight.

Feeling helpless and caught off guard makes Jensen look away and retreat to familiar waters – Jared. But Jared looks at him like he knows exactly what's going on inside Jensen's head right now, with a guarded but hopeful smile, and nudges Jensen's knee under the table.

“Jensen? Is everything alright?” Misha's voice eventually filters through the fog of emotions that clouds Jensen's mind.

“Huh? Um, yeah. I guess,” Jensen stutters, feeling even more flustered when he's hit again by the full force of Misha's eyes, now accompanied by a gentle smile. “Misha--” he starts, but then bites the inside of his cheek.

Not here, not now.

“Yeah? What is it?” Misha asks.

Jensen shakes his head, cursing himself for being a coward. “Nothing, I was just... spacing out.”

The look Jared gives him in return hits Jensen straight in the heart. Hurt, hope, realization. Begging. Jensen shakes his head imperceptibly.

_Not here, not now._

Jared's telepathic powers when it comes to Jensen seem to work, because he drops it.

***  
  
“You were right,” Jensen admits it, out loud, that night in bed.

“I know,” Jared mumbles into his ear, tightening his arms around Jensen's middle. “So what do we do?”

“You mean, how do we tell him?”

“Yeah.”

“Don't you think he already knows?”

“Even if he does,” Jared sighs, then drops a gentle kiss to Jensen's neck, right underneath his ear. “We need to spell it out, make it perfectly clear. He deserves to know his standing in our relationship.”

“He deserves so much more than that,” Jensen says. “He's been keeping us sane and fixing us for months now. I doubt he knew what this would lead to, but... this whole process of how he found his way to us, isn't it kind of telling? And I didn't realize just how much I fell in love with him until earlier today.”

“I was aware for a while now,” Jared confesses. “I'm also pretty sure that he's in love with us, but what if we misinterpreted things?”

“We didn't misinterpret this. Did you see how he looked at me on New Year's Eve? When I almost kissed him?”

Jared laughs into his neck. “So you  _did_ , in fact, almost kiss him. I wasn't sure.”

“Yeah, I kind of surprised myself,” Jensen huffs. “I guess that was a clue.”

“My first clue was... I guess back when we visited Misha's apartment. He was so nervous after that birthday-dinner-that-totally-wasn't-a-date. And so off kilter when he thought he was imposing on us. It was adorable, I just wanted to cuddle him and tell him it was alright.”

Jensen chuckles. “Now that you mention it, it was kind of a date, wasn't it?”

“Pretty much. And a sweet one at that.”

Jensen toys with the blanket, runs his fingers over it and rubs the fabric against his knuckles. “I wonder what it'll be like, with him.”

“The sex?” Jared asks immediately, and Jensen feels his face flush hot.

“That too, but no, actually. I was thinking more in terms of like, our morning routine and do I have to give up sleeping on your lap on the sofa because I'm not the only one occupying you anymore?” Jensen ponders out loud.

Jared laughs at that. “That's your spot, don't worry. But it's a bit presumptuous, don't you think? To count on him saying yes to a relationship with us. What do we do if he only fell in love with one of us? Or if he just wants to be friends?”

“Then we'll deal with it. We're still finding our way in living in a relationship with just the two of us, but we'll manage. I'm pretty sure about that after a year. Just because we function better as a threesome doesn't mean we don't as a twosome.”

Jared kisses Jensen's temple at that, lips curled into a smile. “Yeah. Plus, I mean. I love you. More than anything in the world, and that is never going to change,” he continues, his voice sure and firm. “I can't imagine living without you.”

“Now you're just being sappy,” Jensen rolls his eyes, but leans over to kiss Jared with a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Go to sleep. Love you, too.”

Jared laughs. “Fine. Sleep tight.”

“You too. And don't worry. He'll say yes.” Jensen feels a surge of heat shoot through his veins at the statement. Excitement, curiosity, hope. Just a little bit of guilt.

***  
  
They plan out everything – a big, fancy dinner with four courses for Misha, the music to go with it, the way they would tell him, whether they would go to second base or not on their first official date.

It all goes differently than planned, of course it does.

When Misha arrives, he's not his usual self. Far more subdued, with his face so pale that Jensen finds himself worrying Misha might fall off his chair any minute now.

Then Misha shoves his plate abruptly towards Jared. “Here, you can finish it. The meatloaf is delicious, but I'm not feeling well and I-- excuse me,” he says, jumps up and hurries towards the bathroom.

“So much for our confession, huh?” Jensen sighs quietly, only for Jared to hear, who's currently busy loading up his plate with Misha's share.

“We have all the time in the world,” Jared shrugs, but winces. “Poor Misha.”

“At least we get to pamper him a bit, now,” Jensen smiles and gets to his feet as soon as Misha re-enters the room.

They have him lie down in the bed in Jensen's room, which is barely in use these days, equipped with a bucket and some Kleenex.

“I'm so sorry for ruining your evening,” Misha apologizes, his voice rough and shaken. “After you went through all the trouble of cooking me dinner.”

“Don't worry about it,” Jensen finds himself sitting on the mattress beside Misha with a smile, then runs his hand through Misha's hair on impulse, ruffles it affectionately. “Get better soon.”

“Do you want some tea?” Jared asks him, and Misha confirms.

They take turns looking after him, but Misha falls asleep soon and only wakes up when Jensen pokes his head through the door around midnight.

“I should go home,” Misha sits up in bed, looking drowsy and sleep-addled. Also, adorable.

“No,” Jensen protests in a way that doesn't allow refusal. “You stay right where you are for the night. Here, I brought you some clothes to sleep in.”

“But it's a work day tomorrow and I already feel better--”

“Mish, it's midnight. Get some rest,” Jensen orders, gentle but firm. 

Misha stares at him for a few moments before he nods and looks down at the old t-shirt and sweat pants that he accepts from Jensen. “Okay.”

“Good night,” Jensen says on the exhale, wanting nothing more than to lean down and kiss Misha. As always, he restrains himself.

“Night, Jen,” Misha replies with a soft smile. “Promise me there's some leftover meatloaf for me tomorrow?”

“Promise,” Jensen grins. 

***  
  
They dance around the subject for a while. Jensen feels like they don't want to jinx it again and are just waiting for the perfect moment, which, like always, just won't show up.

Every time Jensen thinks that they've reached a point where he's allowed to say, 'Hey, Misha, do you want to be our partner?' it doesn't feel right. Because they're busy laughing over one of Jared's dumb jokes and Misha's subsequent deadpan reply while stuffing their faces with pizza, because Jared's half asleep and drooling on Misha's shoulder and Jensen needs him to be awake to do this, or because Misha turns away immediately, as if he's sensing that there's a line, somewhere, here, that is taunting Jensen to be crossed.

Jensen is, frankly, two seconds away from going insane.

In the end, Jensen's birthday rolls around without anything having changed.

Well, not officially.

The truth is that both Jared and Jensen have let their guard down around Misha more and more. It feels right and it's so easy that Jensen doesn't even understand why it took them this long to do it. Then again, ever since he and Jared had decided on somehow telling Misha, there's a calm sort of expectant nervousness simmering between them, something that makes Jensen beyond excited.

So, when Jensen falls asleep on the couch, he doesn't care anymore if his head is in Jared's lap and his feet on Misha's. When goes in for a hug, Jared is just as affectionate with Misha as he is with Jensen – the only thing missing would be a kiss. When they're out for dinner, they don't even pretend to not see it as a date any more – and speaking of, their dates start to get increasingly romantic, and very much intentionally so. Misha seems to savor it all, takes it in like a sponge, and returns all of their gestures. Anyone who saw them would think of them as boyfriends, so it's really just that one last confession that's still missing to make things perfect.

On Jensen's birthday, they end up on the couch with an open bottle of white wine after a nice three-course meal at their favorite steakhouse. How this has become a thing, Jensen doesn't know, but he feels warm and mellow, this side of perfectly buzzed without being drunk, and just really, really comfortable.

“The only thing missing today is chocolate cake,” Jared muses with a pleased smile. “But I guess the steak and tartufo made up for it.”

“Chocolate cake?” Misha prompts with a look at Jared sitting to his left and Jensen sitting to his right. 

Jensen smiles at the memory. “Jeff would make me chocolate cake for my birthday, ever since we started dating. He made one for one of our early dates and he really had that recipe down, so I described it as 'orgasm-inducing' which, in turn, made him so happy that he baked that cake a couple times. Until I told him that he better save it for special events or I'd gain some weight soon.”

“'Orgasm-inducing' is the perfect description for that cake,” Jared chuckles. “We still have the recipe, but neither of us...” Jared breaks off, shakes his head.

“You don't dare touch it with a five foot pole because it'd never be the way Jeff made it,” Misha finishes the sentence for him, a tiny smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” Jared admits quietly, swirling the wine in his glass, then taking a big sip.

Misha hums, pondering. After a few moments, he says, “Why don't you try doing it your way? Sure, it's still Jeff's chocolate cake recipe, but you can bake it like you want to. Even if it turns out awesome, it won't mean you're replacing Jeff – it'll just mean you're honoring his memory. No one else will be able to bake that cake like he did, and that's alright, but it's your choice what you want to do with the recipe. Do you want it to be forgotten?”

_Are we still talking about chocolate cake?_ Jensen almost asks, but doesn't. Misha seems a bit different than usual, like he's both stressed out and on tenterhooks but somehow happy about it.

When Jensen realizes that Misha is working himself up to ask something, Misha has already opened his mouth, speaking rushed and with an uncertain smile. “Guys, this might seem like it comes out of the blue, but I gotta ask. It's been burning under my skin for a while now. Will there... are you ever planning on starting a threesome relationship again?”

Jared gasps in surprise and searches for Jensen's eyes immediately.

This is it, this is their opportunity, and they both know it.

Jensen feels how a smile spreads on his lips, stretching them into a large grin, and he nudges Misha with his elbow before looking into his deep blue eyes. Eyes that look up at him with carefully hidden hope and all the things he didn't say. “Who knows, if the right guy comes along, I can see us doing that.”

“Provided you both fall in love with him,” Misha smiles lopsided and a bit self-depreciatingly. “Which has to be one hell of a coincidence.”

“Hm, you see, Jared and I have very similar taste when it comes to men,” Jensen barely refrains from winking.

“Is that so?” Misha lifts his chin a little higher, meeting Jensen at eye level, while still looking so open, so vulnerable.

Jensen wants to cuddle him into eternity. Among other things.

“Yeah,” Jared agrees from his other side, and Jensen is finally not the sole focus of Misha's intense eyes, which is both disappointing and a quick relief. “You see, we like the funny ones. The ones that call us out on our bullshit and who're quick with a witty reply. Dark hair and beard preferred, and if we don't have to stoop down too much to kiss him, that's an advantage.”

“We like guys who speak their mind and keep us sane when we annoy each other,” Jensen adds, and Misha turns towards him again, his lips parted as he waits for Jensen to continue. “And who makes the effort to understand us, even when we talk about our former relationship and our former partner.”

“Jeff sure left a hole in our lives, and we do want to fill it again,” Jared says. “But I think we needed to see that there won't ever be someone to fill that hole perfectly. Instead, we need someone who can carve their own opening between us, to fill it out to his content, and make us take over the parts that he cannot substitute.”

Misha starts to laugh under his breath, meets Jensen's eyes, then Jared's. “Didn't I just tell you? It's like with the chocolate cake. It doesn't need to be replaced by something equal. It's enough to work with what you have, and do the best you can, to make something that makes you happy.”

“And I'm pretty sure that Jeff would agree,” Jensen grins, then sets his glass of wine aside, mirroring Jared who just did the same.

“You know,” Misha says without looking up from his glass that he's spinning in his hands. “Just say the word, whenever you guys are ready.”

Jared laughs, a relieved, free laugh straight from his belly. He's so happy it's contagious, and Jensen feels his own heart skipping a beat or three, his stomach twisting with excitement in the most positive way.

“Which word?” Jensen teases Misha, nudging him again just to make some body contact.

“Huh?”

“Which word do we need to say? Or can we forgo that in favor of just doing what we've been wanting to do for months?” Jensen smirks, watches in delight as Misha's eyes get bigger by the second.

“The latter sounds good to me, too,” Misha says overly formal, and when he puts his glass down on the coffee table, his hand is shaking.

“Good,” Jensen returns.

Jared shuffles closer until his knee bumps against Misha's. His eyes find Jensen's, again, and they can't stop grinning at each other as they're leaning in, wrapping their arms around Misha between them. Misha whimpers, a sound that probably wasn't supposed to come out at all, and leans into them, an arm sneaking around Jensen's waist and the other most likely doing the same to Jared.

It's all a big mess of limbs, and eventually, Jensen leans back to find Jared nodding at him, the go-ahead signal to encourage him to seal the deal. Misha looks shaken but happy when Jensen turns to him.

He raises his hand, ever so slowly, so Misha has all the time in the world to protest. He doesn't, though, so Jensen cups his cheek, tips his chin up, then leans down to kiss him. At first, it's unsure and a bit unsteady. Jensen knows how Jared kisses, knows it from the heart and deep in his bones, but Misha is, of course, completely unknown ground.

Jensen doesn't get much time to explore, because Jared's hand wraps around his neck, warm and demanding and a bit possessive.

He leans back from Misha's soft, slightly chapped lips and lets Jared take his spot, watches in awe as Misha tilts his head just so to make the angle perfect, as Jared grins into the kiss, feels the hand on his neck tighten. He's so intensely happy watching this scene unfold in front of him, feels excitement rush through his veins at seeing the other two so happy.

When Jared retreats, Misha drops against the back rest of the couch, his hands never leaving Jared's and Jensen's sides. “I didn't dare hope, you know,” he beams.

“We thought we were being obvious,” Jensen says in amusement, letting one hand skim over Misha's flat stomach, finally touching in a way he wasn't allowed to for much too long.

Jared chuckles, then admits, “We wanted to tell you for a while now, and didn't know how. Or when. The perfect opportunity just wouldn't come around.”

“So you take me out on romantic trips and make me ache with how much I want to be with you,” Misha shakes his head in disapproval, but grins. “Sadists.”

“Sorry,” Jensen apologizes. He leans in once more and buries his head against Misha's neck, pressing soft kisses to the tender skin, wallowing in the fact that Misha's arm tightens around him and Jared's weight and warmth presses in from Misha's other side.

Jensen hears kissing sounds again and feels Misha's throat working under him, so he looks up to find Jared going at it yet again and smiles.

“Jay,” he says after another couple of seconds. “Me too.”

So Jared breaks the kiss with a grin and apologetic peck to Misha's lips. When Jensen lifts up, Jared leans back to give him some space, but Jensen quickly corrects that notion.

“No, come here,” he says, tugging at Jared's shoulder.

Jared seems confused, but when Jensen kisses him, hard, the way he knows Jared loves, it also seems to become clear to Jared.

A blissful sigh from Misha makes them look at him.

“Thanks for waiting for the perfect opportunity,” Misha smiles, ever so gentle. “And thanks for giving me a spot in your life.”

Jensen laughs at that. “Ah, no. You made that spot yours, you molded it so you fit into it perfectly. You deserve it.”

***  
  
After two weeks of constantly hanging out at their house, Jensen drops the spare key in Misha's palm.

After another week, Misha brings a trunk full of clothes.

That's also when Misha sleeps in the big bed in the master bedroom with them for the first time.

After two months, Jared asks if Misha wants to move in, since he's basically living with them already, anyway.

That's why they all team up one weekend to empty Misha's apartment.

Two weeks later, they tell Misha about the fight they had over the visit to Jeff's grave. About how Jeff would be replaced and forgotten.

“Hey, I have a question for you two.”

They nod in unison at Misha, who stands in front of them in the kitchen, both hands set on his hips.

“What would Jeff have said if you'd have told him?”

“Told him what? About the fight or...?” Jensen asks.

“No, about me. Like, hey Jeff, there's this guy we kind of fell in love with so we want to be with him, what would he have said?”

Jensen looks at Jared, a bit irritated and a lot confused, and sees his own feelings reflected in his face. That is, until Jared starts to grin. “Oh, I get it,” he laughs. “He'd tell us to not fight about something like this, that we should get our heads out of our asses. And to not pass up on a good thing when it's right in front of us.”

“Yeah,” Jensen starts to see him, too, standing there much like Misha is now, taking none of their bullshit and holding his own. “He totally would.”

“So?” Misha prompts, a smirk curling his lips. “Do I need to smash your heads together for him, or...”

“No need,” Jensen rebuffs him, but steps up to crowd Misha against the breakfast bar to kiss him. “You're amazing.”

“What? Because I know and understand you?”

“Because you're perfect for us,” Jensen kisses him hard, then, all the while running his hands over Misha's torso, slipping under his shirt, around his waist and up his back, caressing every square inch of skin he can reach, “Because you never tried to replace him, but remind us why we loved him. Which, in turn, makes it so very obvious why we love you.”

Misha arches into his body, their cocks rubbing together through their pants. “You do?” he asks, breathless and gasping.

“Isn't it obvious?” Jensen chuckles, places another kiss on his lips. “I do. Jared does, too.”

“Say it again,” Misha moans, “Please.”

“I love you,” Jensen grins against his lips.

Misha laughs, low in his throat.

“And I love you, too,” Jared says, reaching out to cup Misha's face in his palm.

Meanwhile, Jensen grabs for Misha's cock through his jeans, rolls his hand over it, feels how it fills out a nice bulge.

Misha groans.

“Okay, yeah, guys, I think we better take this to the bedroom,” Jared suggests, sliding up behind Jensen to grind his crotch into Jensen's ass and to kiss Misha over Jensen's shoulder. “What do you say?”

Jensen hums, then shakes his head. “Won't make it,” he winks at Jared before he drops to his knees in front of Misha, working his pants open with deft fingers. Just enough to get his boxers down and his dick out so Jensen can slide it into his mouth and down his throat in one swift move.

“Jay,” Misha groans again, steadying himself by grabbing for purchase on the breakfast bar behind him.

And that's another thing, with the nicknames.

Jeff was always the only one to call Jensen 'Jen'. Sometimes, Jared imitated him, but it kind of never stuck. Misha had caught on to the fact that the nickname was a sensitive point after Jeff's death pretty soon. Not knowing any better, he'd started calling Jensen 'Jay', and Jared became 'Jare'. Which was fine with Jensen, but sometimes they still got it wrong – who was called when Misha said 'Jay'.

This time, though, Jensen knows that he's being addressed, so he looks up at Misha and sucks just a bit harder on the tip of his cock.

“He's so pretty like this, isn't he?” Jared grins at Misha, leans against the breakfast bar beside him.

Without looking, Jensen reaches out to smack his thigh. Not too hard, just to remind him.

“And feisty,” Misha adds, amused.

Jensen glares at him, but proceeds to take him fully into his mouth until the tip of Misha's dick hits the back of his throat. When he swallows around it, Misha tips his head back with a sigh.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, and Jensen feels a hand running through the strands of his hair. It's Misha, judged by the gentleness and size – Jared's hands are bigger, surer in the way they move.

They're still trying out what they like, which isn't too surprising four months into a relationship.

It's nice, having three people again, although it couldn't be more different from before, with Jeff. Not better or worse, just different. New, exciting, anyway. Jensen loves it, loves to explore every little detail about Misha, loves when Jared gives Misha hints of what he should do to Jensen to make him come in two seconds flat. Jared gives the information willingly, and hearing him share such intimate moments with Misha makes Jensen feel ridiculously turned on.

The first night they spent together, it had been all about Misha, about the things he liked, and they ended up making him come two times before taking care of themselves together.

Where Jared – as the youngest and the one who came into Jeff's and Jensen's relationship – was usually very passive and liked it when Jeff told him what to do, he had now learned to take matters into his hands more often. Jensen had always been reversible and topped as often as he bottomed, but with Misha, he finds himself longing for control, he finds himself wanting to show off, wanting to have Misha and Jared follow his prompts. Not like Misha accepts it just like that – he's the one who secretly has them both wrapped around his little finger and that's okay, too.

So when Misha pushes at Jensen's shoulder, shaking under his hands, Jensen lets off and grins up at him.

Misha's mouth is hanging open and kiss-swollen, thanks to Jared, who looks incredibly pleased.

“ _Now_ we can go to the bedroom,” Jensen smiles at them, getting to his feet and adjusting his pants while he does. Then he turns around and leads the way, shedding his clothes as he walks. First off is his plaid shirt, which lands on the handrail in the staircase, then his undershirt, which flutters and ends up on the side of the hallway. His jeans follow when he's already one step inside the bedroom and drop to the floor beside the bed.

When Misha and Jared stumble into their bedroom, Jensen is already naked and stroking his cock, laying spread-eagled in the middle of the mattress.

“Fuck,” Misha mumbles under his breath, then points at Jared with a warning, playful glare, “Don't you dare say that's the general idea.”

“But it is,” Jared grins, stepping towards Misha to strip his clothes off quickly and efficiently.

Misha returns the favor, a bit more clumsy and impaired by the fact that Jared is taller than him and distracting him by peppering kisses over his mouth, his face, his neck. From his vantage point on the bed, Jensen watches them, savors seeing them like this – kissing, stroking, caressing each other, Jared's big hands cupping Misha's ass and squeezing it before lifting him up and carrying him those few steps to the bed. Misha's legs uncurling reluctantly from Jared's hips even when he's already on his back beside Jensen. Jared grinding his hips into Misha's, their dicks rubbing together between their bellies as they move against each other. Jared burying his head in the crook of Misha's neck, kissing, biting, making Misha screw his beautiful blue eyes shut.

Jensen moans at the delicious sight, which is when Jared pulls off, smiles at Misha, then leans over to kiss Jensen. It's quick and affectionate, with a smile against Jensen's lips, before Jared retreats only to lick and kiss his way down Misha's body. His lips dance over Misha's nipples, down his abs and treasure trail, until they meet the same patch of hair that Jensen had his nose buried in not five minutes ago. With a wink at Jensen and a grin at Misha, Jared leans down to suck Misha down, bopping his head a few times.

In the meantime, Jensen has reached for Misha's hand and squeezes it, leans over to kiss his shoulder and inhale his scent, the one of sandalwood and cypress and  _Misha_ , the one he loves so much.

Which is why Jared catches him completely off guard when in the middle of Jensen slipping his tongue into Misha's mouth, he starts sucking Jensen off. Jensen moans into Misha's mouth, jerking his hips upwards in surprise, and Misha grins against his lips, curls his hand around Jensen's neck to deepen their kiss. Without missing a beat, Jared goes to town like only he knows how to, licking over the head of Jensen's cock, sucking him down hard and fast, taking him deep into his mouth.

There's no holding back, no dragging this out, and Jensen knows what it means if Jared is like this – he wouldn't let off if Jensen begged him to right now. When his orgasm washes over Jensen, it's as expected as it is unexpectedly intense, sweeping him off his feet and leaving him with sparkling spots in his vision, blurry sight and shaking legs. The kind of orgasm that'll make his stomach clench when he thinks about it even hours later.

“Jeez, Jare,” Jensen finds himself croaking out, his voice shot to hell and hoarse as he pulls Jared up, kisses him to taste his own come on Jared's tongue.

Jared laughs, then nudges his way in-between Jensen and Misha, laying on his side facing Misha. “I can't wait until I can do the same to you,” he whispers into Misha's ear, and Jensen feels himself shudder at the words, spoken so tenderly and lovingly, but also with an urgency that leaves him needy and curious.

They're still in that first period, sitting out the first six months before they can get tested with secure results. Misha has been donating blood regularly, as has Jared, so there's really no need to worry, but it's something they decided for themselves – after the first half year of being exclusive, they'd go get tested together. Until then, it's condoms for Misha.

“Mish, you wanna fuck him?” Jensen prompts without needing to make eye contact. “He's been so good to us, I think he deserves it.”

“Yeah, I think so, too,” Misha agrees with a smile in his voice.

With the sound of Jared and Misha kissing in his ear, Jensen grabs the bottle of lube and a condom from the bedside table. Jared slings his leg over Misha's hip, allowing Jensen to roll the condom down Misha's cock and slick it up with lube, then use the excess lube to prepare Jared with practiced strokes of two lubed fingers up his ass.

“I'm ready, do it,” Jared gasps after practically no time, but Jensen chuckles and places a kiss on his neck.

“I decide when you're ready,” Jensen teases with a grin. “So if I want to--”

“Jay,” Misha interrupts him with a guttural sigh, the most delicious plea Jensen could've asked for. “I need--”

And well, Jensen isn't good at declining Misha's pleas just yet. “Yeah, okay.”

He retrieves his fingers and instead nudges Jared to roll onto his back, watches as Misha lines himself up with Jared's ass, as the head slips right into the tight ring of muscle, as Jared arches his back and moans, as Misha rolls his hips into him and buries his head in Jared's chest.

They're too entangled in each other so Jensen can't do much more than wipe his fingers on a tissue and watch as Misha fucks Jared, slow and sensual, taking all the time in the world. They're both smiling against each other's mouths, and Jensen feels his heart burst with happiness just looking at them.

It takes them some rutting against each other – and Jensen is too smitten by watching the muscles in Misha's back working, tensing, relaxing, repeat at this point to notice both their breaths speeding up – until Jared hits his climax with a soft whimper, coming against his stomach, spunk dripping from Misha's chest, too. He melts into the mattress afterwards, hips jerking with the aftershocks, lets Misha fuck into him a couple more times, moans with how oversensitive he is, but then Misha tenses and groans, lips locked against Jared's throat, and Jensen sees his hips snapping forward and his cock twitching where it's buried deep inside Jared.

They lie together in a breathless heap of limbs, panting, grinning, and Jensen runs his hand through Misha's hair.

They untangle themselves slowly, falling down on the mattress to catch their breath. Jensen gets up to fetch a washcloth and clean towel.

Afterwards, Jared pulls him down between them, and all three of them huddle together for warmth, Misha tugging the blanket over them.

“I love you,” he says solemnly.

“Me too,” Jared and Jensen answer in unison.

 


	5. ... a new beginning

Jensen wakes up like he does every day – with Misha snuffling into his ear and Jared's hair tickling his nose. Misha's legs are entangled with his and effectively trap Jensen. Jared's arm lies heavy across Jensen's chest, but that doesn't even bother Jensen any more after eleven years.

“Hey,” he nudges them, urging Jared to hit the snooze button on the radio alarm clock blaring from the bedside table.

Jared does so with a grunt and immediately swings his legs out of bed, overenthusiastic as ever. With a huge yawn and without a hand to cover it, he sits up and turns around to Jensen and Misha.

Jensen just rolls onto his side, curls up against Misha, and tries to fall back asleep.

Misha mumbles against Jensen's chest, “Jare, it's Jay's birthday, come back to bed.”

“But... our morning run,” Jared protests. “He's out of commission for another hour anyway.”

“I heard that,” Jensen states, but it doesn't come out as harsh as he wanted.

“See, he's awake,” Misha adds.

“But you are, too,” Jared laughs while leaning over, brushing Misha's hair back before kissing him, soft and tender to slowly wake him up.

Jensen only watches him through his lashes, too lazy to open his eyes. He's happy, a feeling seated so deep in his very core, in his bones, in the blood pumping through his veins, so happy that he could die happy right now.

Which reminds him that today is a special day, aside from it being his birthday.

“Happy anniversary, you two,” he yawns. “Love ya.”

“A little bit more enthusiasm, please,” Jared chuckles, then leans in to kiss Jensen, too. He's still sleep-warm and soft. “First, happy birthday. Second, happy anniversary. Love you, too.”

Jensen grins, then pulls him into a longer, deeper kiss – well, as long and deep as he dares to with his case of morning breath.

“May there be many more of both,” Misha adds, the smile clear in his voice, before he kisses Jensen, too, until they're both breathless. 

“Happy anniversary,” Jared says towards Misha, before they all end up in a big pile of hugs and kisses.

Neither Jared nor Misha go for their morning run that day.

Instead, Jared cooks them breakfast, probably goes overboard with it, too, judged by the sheer amount of eggs and hash browns and sausages.

Jensen has a comment about how he's not gonna get older than forty if Jared feeds him like this laying ready on the tip of his tongue, when he remembers.

And four years later, it still hurts, thinking of Jeff.

Not the way it did when the wound was still fresh and new, still bleeding into their everyday life, but jokes like that... they don't say them that easily any more.

So Jensen says thank you and indulges himself with his birthday breakfast.

“So, I can finally reveal your birthday present,” Jared claps his hands, then starts to stuff his face with scrambled eggs.

“Which you wouldn't tell me about,” Misha grouses from beside Jared, nudging his elbow.

“Because it's both an anniversary gift and a birthday gift.”

Jensen raises an eyebrow at him and says with his mouth full, “O-kay?”

Jared takes a deep breath, then looks at Jensen and at Misha before he admits, “I made an appointment for today. That's why I asked you both to take the day off. You don't need to accept it, we don't need to go there, but it would make me very happy if we did.”

“Alright, what appointment?” Jensen asks, curious and intrigued.

“An appointment with the civil law notary,” Jared states calmly.

For a second, Jensen can just look at him before the ball drops and he  _understands_ .

And there he thought he'd felt happy with Jared and Misha in his arms. That was nothing against the onslaught of pride and joy, making his heart hammer away in his chest.

“I see,” he grins at Jared. “Fantastic idea.”

“I don't get it,” Misha stares from Jared to Jensen and back, his blue eyes big and confused.

“Mish,” Jensen reaches across the table to take his hand and squeeze it. “It's been three years. You've been living here with us for a long time now.”

“And I pay my dues,” Misha furrows his brow. “So?”

Jensen laughs. “No, you pay  _rent_ , and that's not what you deserve. So. We'd like to ask you if you want to be added to the mortgage?”

“And update our wills and testaments and all the legal documents that we already have for each other, so you have all the rights we do,” Jared adds. “God knows I don't want history to repeat itself, but it saved our ass once. And I'd like to know that you've got all the security you need should something happen to me.”

Misha's fork drops with a clatter as he stares at them in surprise, a smile slowly spreading on his lips. “You're proposing,” he summarizes.

“Basically,” Jensen grins. “Still need to get rings, though. So all three of us can wear one.”

“I thought of buying some, but then I decided that it'd be better if we chose them together,” Jared smiles at them.

Misha chuckles, and if Jensen is not mistaken, there are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “Thank you. And yes, Jared, yes, Jensen. I do.”

Jared almost clears the table with the following maneuver – pulling Jensen and Misha towards him to hug them tight and kiss them both.

Jensen kisses them, the familiar press of two different pairs of lips, and finds himself thinking that he wouldn't want it any other way.

**THE END**

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author's Notes:**  
>  So this one has been on my ongoing List of Plot Bunnies To Use for Bigbang Challenges since about two years ago. I'm very happy that I finally got to write it and I'm also pretty happy with how it turned out! Have fun reading it!
> 
>  **Special Thanks:**  
>  To my artist [alexisjane](http://alexisjane.livejournal.com), for capturing the mood and the message of the story perfectly with her art! The black and white theme really fits the melancholy theme of the story, the depression and grief, and yet, the colorful details represent how the characters slowly regain the will to live and learn how to enjoy life again. Thank you so much for all your hard work, I'm so happy that you chose my fic and made such wonderful art for it!
> 
> To my friend and beta [blow_me_cas](http://blow_me_cas.livejournal.com) \- Do I even need to say anything anymore? Except that I'm SO SO VERY MUCH looking forward to reading your fic for the DCBB? Also, thanks for beta'ing this one. As always, you did a stellar job! Thank you!


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